Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Title: Mom is a Mess


Summary: A pair of accidents bring mother and son together. 


Keywords:inc,fic,erotic,hot





   Mom Is a Mess

   I heard a crash and a cry from the kitchen and rushed downstairs.

   "Fuck!"

   "What happened?" I asked unnecessarily.  There was a pool of soup on the
floor below the microwave and Mom stood ankle-deep in chicken and
dumplings.

   "Fuck!" she repeated, her face twisting into a snarl of annoyance.  She
stomped her bare foot in frustration, splashing the cabinets and sending a
chunk of carrot careening across the hardwood.

   "I'll take care of it," I offered.  Reaching for a drawer, I pulled out
a stack of towels and went to work containing the mess.  Mom didn't move;
she stood quaking in the quagmire of her own creation, too livid to
function.  I worked in slow methodical circles around her feet, gradually
mopping up her cold spoiled lunch.  Standing, I went to the sink and warmed
a washcloth, then returned to my task on hands and knees.

   "Lift up," I said, taking hold of her bare calf.  Despite her fury, she
did as I asked and allowed me to clean the flecks of thyme and bits of
ruined chicken from her skin.  Gods, her feet were sexy.  I traced each
knob and knurl, slipping fingers between her toes and along her graceful
arch.  With focused effort and much regret, I set her free lest she
discover my perverted delight.  Satisfied with the job, though wishing
she'd spill something else, I looked up from my crouched position and
committed what would perhaps be the most breathtakingly profound action of
my life.  There, not two feet from my awestruck visage, was the glowing
dome of satin-wrapped pussy.  Short dark hairs poked through the shiny
white fabric, spoiling an otherwise perfect picture of Mom's secret
feminine gifts.  I lingered, unable to shake my eyes from the stolen
glimpse up her skirt.

   "Thanks, Jax.  I can't believe I did that." Mom glanced down, swinging
her hips to the side and swaying her hem away from my immoral gaze.  We
made eye contact and surely she knew the sight I'd just beheld, etched as
it was for eternity in my mind.

   I stood, my face growing hot.  "Are you alright?" I asked, hoping a
distraction would alter the course of her thoughts.

   "I'm fine," she sighed.  "I just wanted to have a quick lunch.  I have
to get to work."

   "Sit." I indicated toward the table.  "I got this." I watched her
shoulders slump in resignation as she accepted my help, dejectedly if not
gracefully gliding toward the dining room and pulling out a chair.  I
joined her minutes later, two steaming bowls in hand.

   "Here, eat," I said, glancing down at her forlorn face, her cropped
sandy hair shading a pair of pretty made-up eyes that screamed sadness.

   "It's alright, Mom.  It's just soup," I said, sitting opposite and
hoping to lift her spirits.

   "It's not that," she said with a heavy sigh and set to eating her lunch
in a depressed funk.

   I knew, of course.  Nothing was going right for her.  It seemed nothing
ever had.  She was a single mother stuck in a job she could ill-afford to
lose or leave with no chance of betterment and no man to comfort her in her
misfortunes.  I owed her everything; she toiled endlessly to afford my
meager tuition and never asked for more than that I succeed where she had
failed.

   Mom was a mess.

   My own course had been set in large part because of her travesties, not
in spite of them.  Divorced at thirty, she'd crossed the country to flee a
toxic family and bitter memories.  A decade later, she'd forced me into the
local community college with the demand that I make something of my life.
I'd never done well in school, but I did show an inexplicable aptitude for
numbers.  So I enrolled in any mathematics class that struck my fancy and
somehow managed to capture the attention of my statistics professor.  Home
for the summer, I was continuing my studies at his behest and interning
remotely as an analyst for a small startup.

   But this isn't a story about me.  At least not entirely.

   Mom had few friends and her job at the local diner seemed only to bring
her into contact with the type of men who had but a singular objective in
mind.  And once they'd achieved that goal, little thought was left for her.
I'd seen it a dozen times in recent years and yet she still persisted,
hoping incomprehensibly that Prince Charming could be found in the dregs of
a greasy spoon beside a neglected highway sitting behind a plate of soggy
fried potatoes and a sloppy burger.  Her tenacity at persisting through it
all was a great source of my own inspiration and I'd never sought to let
her down because of it.  It seemed her only source of comfort was that I
was becoming the man she'd expected, and perhaps unintentionally, the one
she needed.

   Spoons rattled and I stood, taking her emptied bowl with mine to the
sink.  "Working late tonight?"

   "Closing again," she said, a bitter twinge tainting her otherwise
melodic voice.

   "I'll stop by for dinner, then." Mom hated closing, that's when the
weirdos came out.

   "Okay.  Bye, Jax.  Keep your head down." I watched her leave; fetching
her coat, stepping into her frayed pumps, and tossing her worn purse over a
drooping shoulder before swinging out the door.

   'Keep your head down' was our thing; a saying born of years of toil and
bad luck.  It was a cautious reminder to work hard, stay in our lane, and
above all else, avoid trouble.  It's the mantra that got us through the
most difficult years after we'd set off together on a path of uncertainty
without a safety net or even a bank account with a positive balance.  I
often wished I could remember more of those early times because what little
I ken painted an entirely different picture of the woman to whom I owed
everything.

   Mom was fierce back then, even fearless; pissed off at the world and
determined to carve a piece off for me and her and hold it up by the balls
screaming in victory.  But it all came slowly crumbling down as a
monotonous reality set in; the bills mounted, the broken relationships
piled up, work stagnated, and hopes dissolved into a mess of failures and
shattered dreams.  Keeping her head down was all she could do now, lest she
look up and see the shambles she'd made of her life.  Or more to the point,
that life had made of her.  I longed to have the Mom of my early childhood
back; to bask in her ferocity as she tore the world a new one.  But she was
gone, buried deep, and I feared nothing could bring her back.

   I spent the afternoon in my room, hunched over a laptop and applying
myself to my studies and work as she would want.  My job was quickly
becoming a passion the likes of which I'd never experienced.  It combined
the two things I enjoyed most in life: baseball and math.  I found the
internship by chance, a random posting on my community college's website.
It was obscure enough to draw my curiosity and after a series of phone
calls and a glowing recommendation from my favored professor, I had my
first paying gig.  It wasn't much, but it was enough that I could
occasionally spoil Mom and lift a small burden from her hunched shoulders.

   The startup I worked for was building a fantasy baseball app.  It was a
shot in the dark in an industry already crowded beyond reason.  But the job
was fun and I was being paid to do something I enjoyed, which was more than
I could say for Mom.  Between a handful of online classes, I filled my time
crunching numbers, analyzing baseball statistics, and devising new ways to
slice and dice a mind-bogglingly complex array of data.  The surprising
depth of the math behind such a simple sport was what held my interest. 
Who knew hitting a ball with a stick had anything to do with higher order
mathematics?

   I tinkered away, coding a script to run an analysis and test a theory
that I'd had kicking around in my head.  If it proved true, I may finally
have my first contribution to add to the small company that placed their
trust in a young unproven kid they'd never met.  The function churned on my
screen and spat out an error.  Bah!  Fucking Python!

   I had taken a couple of programming classes in my first quarter,
thinking it may be the field I could find success in.  The introductory
lessons were far from enjoyable and I struggled mightily making the
infernal machines do as I demanded.  But it was a necessary evil; pen and
paper were no longer good enough and to get to the bottom of complex
statistics using huge sets of data, I had no other option.

   My stomach growled and drew my attention to the clock on my laptop.  Six
hours had passed since lunch; gone in a blink, it seemed.  That sort of
focused obsession is what kept me coming back, frustrating code aside.  I
hadn't even considered the glimpse I had stolen of Mom's panties, though it
came back then in a flood of hormones and misdirected teenage lust.  I
shook my head, futility attempting to rid my mind of its incestual notions.

   I stuffed my laptop into my backpack and bolted downstairs, hoping I
hadn't missed the bus.  With seconds to spare, I hopped inside and swiped
my student pass through the slot, smiling at the driver who grunted and
paid me no mind.  Three stops later, I rang the signal and waited until the
doors fanned open.  Jumping onto the street, I turned up the dirty sidewalk
and walked two blocks to the town's only late-night eatery.

   I nodded at a couple of old-timers seated at the counter and tucked into
a booth.  The scent of rancid grease and stale coffee hung heavy in the
air, but it was a smell that reminded me of Mom and that made it bearable,
if not enjoyable.  I pulled out my laptop and continued my work, oblivious
to the familiar diner and its wrinkled inhabitants.

   "Hi hun, the usual?" Mom asked in her practiced sing-song tone.

   "Please," I said, looking up and smiling at her.  She looked tired. 
"Long day?"

   She nodded.  "Stacy's out sick so I'm all by myself aside from George."

   George was the diner's long-time short-order cook.  Always good-natured
and always ready with a joke to lighten the mood.  Had it not been for him,
Mom would have walked out years ago.  I secretly wished the two would get
together, but he was married and showed no signs of being unhappy with his
station.  Stacy, on the other hand, was a raging bitch who'd never worked a
full shift in her life.  She called in sick more times than I could
remember and try as she might to get fired, her looks kept her employed. 
I'd wager more than one roll in the hay with the owner helped, too.

   I frowned and simply said, "Sorry, Mom.  Keep your head down," as I'd
offered so many times before.

   Then she smiled at me; the sight that never failed to warm my soul.  Her
weathered face betrayed her age but did nothing to hide the beauty that had
always been.  She looked like she'd lived a hard life, and she had; but as
ever the rain wears the stone, nothing would ever completely dissolve her
intrinsic elegance and strength.

   "Back in a jiff," Mom said, spinning on her high heels and lifting her
skirt.  My mind dove back up that twirling hem and my pants twitched. 
Dirty thoughts crept in as I continued to dwell on Mom's creamy thighs and
tender feet.  What the fuck!  I shook my head again and tried to return to
my work, but Python proved no match for the perversion that overpowered my
feeble psyche.  I continued to daydream about the forbidden until her
lyrical voice shook me awake.

   "One bacon cheese for my growing boy."

   "Thanks," I mumbled, not wanting to make eye contact for fear of adding
further fuel to the fires of my wickedness.

   I ate my solitary dinner in focused distraction, counting the holes in
the red upholstery of the bench opposite my seat.  Once I got to
fifty-seven, I started again and landed at sixty-two.  Unable to believe
five foam-filled gaps had mysteriously sprouted in the few minutes between
attempts, I began anew.  Fifty-four.  Fuck!  My compulsive nature refused
to allow this preposterous transgression to stand.  After a sixth try, I
surrendered, having polished off the last dollop of ketchup with the
remaining cold soggy fry on my plate.  Schrodinger's holes would have to
wait for another day.

   Suitably distracted, I returned to my laptop; tweaking code, renaming
variables, cursing errant semicolons, and formatting squirrely curly
brackets.  I ran my script for what felt like the thousandth time and it
finished for a change, displaying a matrix of numbers.  I pulled up a
spreadsheet and ran several cursory calculations to confirm my hypothesis.

   Success!  I'd mathematically shown that changing a baseball player's
position based on age has a net positive result on his offensive
capabilities.  It was something every fan knew, but with numbers to back it
up, I'd potentially be able to predict when a player should be moved, and
maybe even when a player should be cut.  It was the sort of hypothetical
that any serious fantasy sports player needed to consider.  I fired off an
email to my supervisor and hoped to receive a quick response.

   "Hey, champ," I heard a familiar voice say.  "Your mom's almost done."

   "Thanks, George."

   "Hey, uh, have you heard about the mathematician who's afraid of
negative numbers?"

   I shook my head and braced for the punchline.

   "He'll stop at nothing to avoid them!"

   I shared a forced laugh with the charming grease-splattered gentleman
and then shook my head.  "Even for you George, that was pretty bad."

   "Aim to please," he said, tipping an invisible cap and pushing open the
diner's squeaky glass door.

   "Have a good one!" I shouted at his back.  He turned and gave me a wave
as he disappeared into the night.

   Chuckling at the jovial cook's friendly demeanor, I stood and headed
back to the kitchen.  George's humor was always welcome, no matter how
awful.  But in this case it proved germane; his choice of jokes showed that
he recognized my interests, and even though we knew little of each other, I
knew that he cared.  Mom needed more people like him in her life.

   Pushing through the pair of swinging saloon doors, I found Mom hunched
over a counter, giving it one last polish before calling it a night.  Her
flowing skirt swished side to side as her shapely hips rocked with each
thrust of the washcloth.  I couldn't help but stare again, focusing on her
taut thighs and lifted bottom, artificially enhanced by the well-worn green
pumps that held her dainty toes.  Fuck!  I couldn't stop myself.

   "Oh, hi hun!" Mom exclaimed, pulling a hand to her breast.  "You scared
me!"

   "Sorry.  Guess I was just admiring your work," I admitted sheepishly.

   "Like you've never seen me clean a counter before?" she asked with a
smirking grin.

   Gods I loved to see her smile.  I shrugged and felt my cheeks start to
heat up.  "Need any help?"

   "Nope, I'm almost done.  Just need to put away the last of the
leftovers." I watched her toss the rag into the sink and then head for the
stainless-steel prep station and lift out a half dozen hotel pans.  With
deft practiced moves she slid them down the counter and wrapped each in
plastic before hefting one to the fridge.  I reached out, opening the door,
and she graced me with an appreciative smile.  Hrrng.  There it was again.

   I held the door until Mom had the last heavy pan in her grasp and was
sliding it into the back of the fridge.  Then disaster struck.  The wire
shelving gave way and two of the near-full metal containers came crashing
down.

   "Fuck!" Mom screamed, trying to back out of the impending avalanche of
food.  But it was futile, a cascade of chili and nacho cheese rained down
upon her.  The pans crashed onto the floor, one sharp edge striking the top
of her precious foot causing a second cry.  "Ow!  Fuck!" I could see blood
begin to rise from the ugly wound and mix with the red and yellow slop that
coated her body.

   Mom lost it.  Lost it like I'd never seen.  She collapsed, broken,
folding to the ground in a heaping mess with her hands covering her face
and wailing sobs wracking her body.

   "Mom?!  Are you ok?!" I'd taken my share of the colorful fallout, but
she was my only concern.

   She didn't respond; she just shook her head and continued howling into
her hands.  I didn't know what to do.  She was always the strong one.  She
was the one who held me when I couldn't handle it anymore.  So much hurt
and resentment came flooding out of her that the sounds she made were
painful to hear; they didn't seem human.  My heart ripped in half seeing
the straw that finally broke her back; the back that bore the weight of our
combined troubles for almost twenty years.

   Not knowing what else to do, I knelt into the pool of spilled chili and
cheese and wrapped my arms around her.  "It's okay, Mom.  I'll take care of
it."

   "It's not okay," she sobbed.  "I'm such a fuck up!"

   I'd never heard her make such an admission.  As often as life had gotten
her down, she'd always stood back up.  Maybe more battered, bruised, or
weather-worn for her efforts; but never once failing to return to her feet.

   "No, you aren't," I insisted.  "The fridge broke, it's not your fault."
Her shoulders shook as I held her tight, trying my best to offer what
comfort I could.

   She peeled her hands from her face and turned a tear-stained cheek in my
direction.  "George told me it was broken and I forgot." Her face scrunched
into a ball of frustrated despair and she broke down again, sliding farther
into the mess.  Unable to hold her up, I let her go.  I felt horrible.  Had
it not been for my distraction maybe she would have remembered.

   I saw the cut on her foot, oozing blood and covered with chunks of
ground beef.  I stood and slid in front of her, pushing waves of viscous
liquid cheese across the tiled floor.  I put my hands under her armpits and
said, "Stand up.  Let me take care of your foot." I lifted and was glad to
feel her comply, raising slowly on one knee, then standing on a wobbly
foot.

   Disaster struck a second time as the infernal mess caused her pointed
heel to lose traction and she toppled against me.  I slipped and we fell
together with a squelching splash.  She landed atop my chest as my back
slapped onto the floor and launched a tsunami of chili cheese at the front
of the oven.  I saw stars and then heard the most blissful sound I'd heard
in years.

   Mom was laughing.  She wasn't just laughing, she was bawling.  What a
ridiculous mess we'd made!  Rolling on the kitchen floor like a couple of
pigs in slop!  I couldn't help myself.  Her mirth was contagious and a
welcome shift from what was just moments ago a scene of unspeakable
heartbreak.  Her body shook atop mine; I could feel her soft breasts
pressing into my stomach as she slid up my torso and looked into my eyes.
Streaks of red and yellow smudged her smiling flushed face as she leaned
down and kissed me.  It was over in a split second, but I felt as if an
eternity had passed with her messy wet lips pressed onto mine.

   "You taste like chili!" she blurted and buried her head into my chest,
cackling with laughter.  She lifted her face again and I lunged with my
tongue, licking up her cheek.

   "Whatever, cheese head!"

   Mom guffawed and leaned down, taking my ear into her mouth and sliding
her tongue through my crinkled curves before latching onto my lobe and
popping it free with a loud smack.

   "You've got some tomato in your ear, Jax," she purred.

   It was hot.  I was getting turned on with her body pressed into mine and
her warm breath crashing against my skin.  The thing in my pants awoke and
made its presence known.  Her bare thigh brushed against it and she stopped
all movement.  Another heartbeat of an eternity passed before she quickly
regained her composure, at least to the extent possible while covered in
chili and nacho cheese, and rolled off me.  She splashed into the mess and
sat up, her skirt riding high on her stained legs.  All I could think was
that her poor white panties had to be ruined.  Hrrng.  My cock raged at the
illicit visualization.

   "Fuck!" Mom blurted, looking around at the carnage.  "This is going to
take all night to clean up."

   "I'll help," I offered.

   "Thanks, hun.  I don't suppose it's worth cleaning ourselves up until we
deal with this first." She slapped her hands onto the sloppy floor, playing
like a naughty toddler in a mud puddle.

   "Let me take care of your foot first; it's liable to get infected."

   "Okay." She kicked off her heels and stood with great care, walking
gingerly to the sink to clean her hands and face.  Globs of chili cheese
rolled down her clothes, dropping back into the mayhem that coated the tile
floor.  Her skirt stuck to her legs and rivulets of thick yellow sludge
slid down her calves.

   I stood up and joined her and we alternated turns under the warm water,
vainly cleaning ourselves as best we could.  Satisfied, at least
temporarily, I took Mom by the hand and led her into the bathroom leaving
red and yellow footprints in our wake.  It couldn't be helped; the first
aid supplies were in a cabinet above the toilet.

   "Sit," I said, motioning down at the porcelain bowl.

   "Ugh, we're just making an even bigger mess."

   "What do you want me to do?" I could have gotten down on the floor and
further spread our filth, but that was what I'd hoped to avoid in the first
place.  "Are there any clothes here we can change into?"

   "Just aprons." Mom shook her head in thought.  "You know what?  Fuck
it." She began unbuttoning her blouse and my eyes went wide.  Sure, I'd
seen her in a bikini and caught the occasional flash of undies, but this
felt different.  Whatever had come over me was not going to do well with
this turn of events.  For the third time that night, I felt my pants
tighten in her presence.

   Her blouse undone, I fought and lost to the urge to examine her chest.
It was tanned and lightly-freckled, with ample cleavage thanks to her
padded push-up bra which was once a pristine white.  Chili had managed to
get through her shirt and stain the delicate fabric.  Her breasts were
perfect by my standards; far from obscene yet certainly more than I felt
worthy to handle.

   I forced myself to reach down and adjust my unruly erection while Mom
was busy examining the blotches of sauce that dotted her bra.  I kept my
eyes on her, though, and just managed to swallow a gasp as she stepped out
of her soiled skirt.  Try as I might, I couldn't unglue my pupils from the
luscious lump that bulged from beneath her shiny satiny panties.  The
errant hairs reappeared, once again asserting the feminine secrets she kept
hidden under that thin layer of fabric.

   "Jax?  Up here," Mom giggled.  My face lit on fire as I met her gaze. 
"I know this is a little weird, but let's just get it over with, okay?  I
want to get at least a few hours of sleep tonight."

   I nodded, though my quivering lip and raging hardon betrayed my
feelings. A little weird, she said.  Fucking ridiculous is more like it. 
But I couldn't remember the last time I'd heard her giggle and that helped
temper the insanity that roiled my mind.

   "Okay, your turn," Mom stated.  I gave her a confused look, my brain yet
unwilling to engage.

   "Strip!" she barked.  "Come on, let's go." She clapped her hands
impatiently, jostling the supple flesh her bra failed to cover.

   I couldn't.  My prick would betray me.  I bit my lip and shook my head,
embarrassed beyond words.

   "Aw, hun, it's ok.  It's not like I haven't seen it all before."

   Not like this, you haven't.

   "C'mere," she said, waving me towards her.  She tossed her dirty clothes
out the door and into the kitchen and then lifted my shirt over my head. 
I'll admit my body was nothing to be ashamed of; sports kept me in shape,
and I'd spent enough time in the gym to add bulk to my lean frame.  Her
fingers moved to my jeans.  I felt her hovering over my hardness, though
tucked away as it was, she probably didn't notice.  That was surely about
to change.

   Mom undid my button and then reached into my fly and unzipped halfway.
With a tug from my hips, she jerked my soiled sticky jeans down in one
swift movement.  Too swift.  My tighty-whities clung to the saturated denim
and dropped in unison.  Out flopped my raging erection and I about fainted.

   "Oh dear," Mom uttered under her breath.  Her knees wobbled and she
dropped onto the toilet seat.

   "I'm sorry!" I cried.  I fought the reflex to cover myself with my
hands, thinking that could easily result in further embarrassment given my
excited state.

   "Honey, you have nothing to apologize for."

   "I couldn't help it," I whined, unable to find any excuse that would
make it okay.

   Mom made no motion to hide my shame so I did it myself, reaching down
and lifting up my briefs.  Only then did she move, quickly impeding my
attempt.  I looked down in confusion to see her hands grasping my wrists
and her eyes transfixed on my throbbing cock.

   "M...m...mom?" I stuttered.  I felt her breath on my crotch, breezing
through my curly hairs and tickling my sensitive skin with its muggy heat.

   She didn't move.  Deer in headlights.  I'd have given her my next
paycheck to know her thoughts but I dared not speak.

   Then it happened.  Boundaries came crashing down.  Taboos were
destroyed. Universes shattered, thrown to the winds.  My ferocious mother
came roaring back to life and swallowed me whole.  Her soft lips wrapped
around my cock and she sucked with an intensity that sent my head into the
clouds.  One hand shot out and cradled my balls, the second gripping
tightly around my shaft, pumping in time with her bobbing head while her
tongue whirled like a dervish around my flared tip.  Within seconds, I was
done.  I cried out and clenched, then exploded into her torrid clutches,
gushing spurt after spurt onto her tongue.  Time stood still again as I
emptied into Mom's mouth, moaning and twitching as she hummed in delight
and rattled me to my core.

   And then it was over.  With a wet smack, she let me go and tugged up my
white briefs.  I stared down at her in disbelief, unable to process what
debauchery had just occurred.  Mom met my gaze with an intensity that I'd
rarely seen anymore.  It wasn't the same sad, broken, tired look I'd grown
accustomed to for so many years.  It was as if she'd finally found a corner
of the world to claim as her own.

   I refused to be the first one to speak.  She had to explain herself; I
had to know what this was.

   "I saw you looking at me this morning, Jax.  And I felt that thing when
I fell on top of you.  Your mother is not a fool."

   I shook my head.  I very much agreed, but that was beside the point.

   "I'm also not a slut.  So take what I just did as a compliment.  And a
downpayment for the mess you're about to help me clean up."

   A downpayment?!  That implication was not at all lost on me, as I'm sure
she intended.  All I could do was squeak out a meager, "Okay."

   "Now, patch me up so we can get to it!" she demanded, her impatience
returning with a vengeance.

   I pulled the first aid kit from the wall and found the requisite
supplies.  Kneeling, I picked up her foot and began cleaning the spilled
food and blood from around her wound.  The cut was ugly but not deep,
though it had to hurt something fierce.  A large ugly bruise was already
forming from the impact, spreading across half of the bridge of her lovely
arched foot.  Once clean, I coated the wound in antibacterial cream and
wrapped a bandage over top.

   As I cradled her precious toes, I felt the heat rise again; only now
with fostered confidence and a sense of intense longing.  This time I had
the courage to do something about it.  And I did.

   I kissed the bandaid, a harmless enough act in and of itself, but then I
trailed a tongue over the bridge of her foot and down to her toes.  I
tickled in between each, dodging and weaving in circles and drawing each
pudgy digit into my mouth one by one, tasting the soiled tangy remains of
spilled chili and creamy queso.  I paid no attention to Mom as she made no
effort to end my depraved podophiliac worship.  It wasn't until I heard her
moan that I looked up at her body, finding it slouched against the toilet,
dressed in stained underwear, with her head lolling back and eyes closed in
bliss.

   Taking her evident enjoyment as further invitation, I continued my
ministrations, trailing my tongue up her lean calf and around her knee. 
She spread herself open for me and took hold of my short brown hairs as I
continued kissing up her soft inner thigh until I could smell her heavy
musk.  Then I paused and glanced between her legs, seeing a dark wet spot
bloom deep in the gusset of her silvery-white panties.  She shifted down,
draping her leg over my shoulder and urged me in, oblivious to the
consequences of our illicit actions.

   I drove into Mom with my nose, inhaling her bittersweet feminine scent
and pressing into the soft piles of flesh that remained hidden beneath her
underwear.  She growled, the ferocity returning as she reached down and
unceremoniously pulled her panties to the side and exposed her most private
of places.  Bare dark lips stared back at me, topped with a tangle of curly
ash-brown hair and split by a crinkled pair of glistening pink slivers that
parted to reveal the darkest of depths.  It was forbidden; the place from
whence I came, but I cared no longer.  Reason was never to be part of this
carnal relationship.

   Tongue extended, I pushed into her wetness, diving straight for her
center with a hunger that matched her own moments before.  I shook my head,
pushing the crest of my nose across her swollen folds as I probed deep
inside Mom's forbidden heat.  Her puffy lips wrapped around my cheeks,
engulfing my face in a slippery warm embrace.  I feasted on her tenderest
of places, twirling my tongue in circles through her tensing tunnel,
feeling her rippled walls clench and hearing her cries of passion
reverberate around the small room.  Then, with one final ferocious attack,
I latched on to her fleshy nub and sucked with all the force I had,
gnashing my teeth and lashing out with my tongue, seeking to bring her to
climax with the same intensity she showed me.  An earth-shattering scream
and gush of wetness told me I'd accomplished my task and with a loud smack
I let Mom's swollen red pussy loose and sat back on my feet as she moaned
and rocked side to side on her ivory throne.

   "Fuuuuuck!" she howled, this time sounding so different than the other
expletives I'd heard her expel that day.

   Proud of what I'd done, I smiled.  She still hadn't made eye contact
with me, but I could see her eyelids flutter as she clutched her sopping
crotch, still riding the waves of pleasure that I'd coaxed from her sad
worn-out body.  Figuring it wise to leave her to her enjoyment, I stood and
gathered my dirty clothes, tossing them onto the pile with Mom's blouse and
dress outside the door.  I gathered up a variety of cleaning supplies and
set them into a stack of buckets and left, more than content to just let
her be for a spell.

   Stepping back out into the chili cheese apocalypse, I couldn't help but
laugh at the mess.  I could see the imprints of our bodies where we'd
fallen and where Mom had sat before we'd washed in the sink.  I licked my
lips, staring down at the destruction, tasting Mom, and debating how best
to tackle the chili con carnage while idly wishing I had a snow shovel. 
Opting for the next best thing, I grabbed a dustpan and began scooping up
the slop, ushering into the tapered plastic run with my free hand and then
pitching the soupy mixture into the trash.  After a few dozen rounds, I had
the bulk of the mess contained and set to the job of deep cleaning the
floor and surrounding appliances.

   I caught a flash of white movement while I was bent scrubbing the front
of the oven and lifted my head to see Mom standing in the doorway of the
bathroom dressed in her once-white bra and panties.  Her face was pink, her
undies were damp, her bra was stained, her legs were streaked red and
yellow, and her hair was an absolute disaster.  But she looked happier than
I could ever remember.

   Not wanting to mince words, I simply said, "Sponges are in the sink.  I
think I got the worst of it." She nodded and I watched her walk by, ogling
her broad hips and bouncy butt as she stepped barefoot over the tile floor.
Her bottom was stained red, a result of her rolling off my body into a
puddle of chili.  For a split second, I wanted to laugh at her misfortune,
but that seemed like a very cruel thing to do given the circumstances. 
Mom's ass certainly did not deserve to be patronized, though rarely did she
show it off anymore, opting for flowing skirts and dresses that hid her
most impressive curves.  It probably had something to do with her randy
clientele and the lonely late-night wackos that frequented the diner.  I
knew she'd had more than one creep try to cop a feel, and even though a
loose skirt offered less protection, at least it left plenty to the
imagination.

   My productivity dropped by several factors of ten once Mom joined the
work party.  Between watching her breasts bulge, threatening to spill from
her bra as she bent down and the sight of her sodden panties pulling tight
between her thighs, I was effectively useless.  My cock reared its
sensitive swollen head again and I did what I could, despite my condition
and preference to simply stare at Mom's mostly-naked body as she toiled at
a job she'd done for nearly half her life.  I considered that if this could
be the last kitchen she'd ever cleaned then I'd be the happiest person
alive.  To give her the gift of freedom and a life of fulfillment and
meaning, as she'd given me, would truly be the greatest act of my life.

   That happy thought occupied my mind and softened my britches as I toiled
alongside my beautiful filthy mother, cleaning up the mess she'd made.  We
found our moments of fun between the dirty monotony, splashing each other
with suds, flicking bits of chili meat back and forth; enjoying each others
company as we rarely had time to do anymore.  It was during one of these
displays of lively flirting that I finally worked up the nerve to kiss her,
darting in as she reared back to smear a handful of liquid cheese on my
face and surprising her with my eager lips.  She moaned into my mouth and
her jaw went slack.  Our tongues met and I joined her restless movements,
wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing our messy bodies together.

   Mom returned my embrace, though with but one arm, circling my shoulders
and caressing my muscled back.  My cock sprang to life against her smooth
undulating thigh and I felt her hand slide slowly down my flank.  I gasped
through flared nostrils as she wrapped her fingers around my stiffness,
focusing with practiced motions on my tender domed tip, pinching the fabric
of my briefs and twirling in circles over my most sensitive skin.  I broke
free of our passionate kiss and panted, the whites in my eyes grew as I
felt her slip into the elastic band of my underwear.  She pulled it away
from my body and brought it down under my dangly bits.

   Then, in an act that would stay with me forever, Mom looked into her
free hand, an oozing pile of yellow sauce in its palm.  A wicked playful
grin spread across her face and she reached down slowly, tantalizingly
displaying her devilish intent.  Her tongue darted out from her teeth and
she bit it, her face still split by an impish smirk.  Then I felt it; the
warm gushing grasp circling my cock, overflowing with soupy slick cheese
sauce that now creatively doubled as some sort of dairy-based lubricant.  I
leaned my head back and moaned at the stained ceiling as her skilled hands
started moving in earnest.  I couldn't watch.  I'd never be able to eat
nachos again.

   Double-fisted seemed to be Mom's favored approach, at least when cheese
sauce was in play, though I doubted she'd ever had the opportunity to
practice this level of debasement on anyone else but I, her loving son. 
Squelching pops bounced off the stainless steel walls of the kitchen as Mom
jerked my cock; one hand held tight around its base, yellow sauce oozing
from between her clenched callused fingers, and her second hand flying over
my acorn tip.  The skill and haste at which she operated were beyond
anything I'd ever felt.  Granted, I had never been an expert at prolonging
the experience, as she was moments from discovering for the second time.

   "Mooooooooom!" I howled and spilled into her grip.

   "That's it, hun, let it all out," she purred.

   I throbbed and throbbed, unable to stop the twitching convulsions
because she wouldn't let me.  My hips flailed out of control as I tried to
flee her touch, the intense sensitivity causing my cock to want nothing
more than to be left alone.  After what seemed an eon, I calmed and she
graciously gave me peace.  Only then did I look down.  My mind saw one
thing and one thing only, and in doing so, ruined a completely different
dish than I had anticipated.  I was a corndog coated in mustard.  With a
little Twinkie thrown in, I considered, as I noticed my cream-filled center
had been squeezed into Mom's open palm.

   In case you were wondering: Twinkies are all good; I can and do still
eat them.  But I don't go sucking the middle out.  That's just gross.

   It turned out I had no time for further food-related analogies as Mom
was not quite done with me yet.  She brought her hand to her lips and
licked it clean, slurping and lapping at my cheezy spunk, all the while
glaring into my depraved soul.  Then she moaned.  And by moaned, I mean she
looked at me with parted lips and did the thing women can do to tell a man
in one long drawn-out animalistic throat-rattling syllable that a thousand
words could not hope to convey.

   Fuck!  She was hot.  And she still wasn't finished.  My dribbling and
quickly-diminishing cock gained her attention and she set her skills as a
professional cleaner to work on it.  Her tongue and lips covered every
surface as she bathed me in spit and sucked every last fleck of yellow
sauce from my skin.  By the time she'd finished, I was rock hard, bouncing
and hoping for more.  But it was not to be.

   Mom patted my dancing prick and cooed, "Down boy." I groaned as she
stood and turned away in denial, pulling up my briefs and leaving them
tented to advertise my displeasure at her untimely retreat.  Had she simply
stopped with the cheese job, I'd have happily tucked away my dirty package
and called it good.  I was due for a shower anyway and my junk was no
stranger to crusty deposits.  But no, she had to taunt me again and thus
leave my brain devoid of the blood required to finish our work in the
kitchen.

   After several minutes spent staring at the wall and with no desire to
see the color yellow for a time, I set to work on the only available task:
fixing the fridge.  I carefully emptied the top shelf, praying that the
remaining brackets would hold long enough for me to eliminate the strain.
They did, and a third messy disaster was averted.  I went to the closet
where the owner kept his tools and located a screw of suitable size and the
appropriate driver to twist it in place.  Three minutes later, all was
well; no further chili avalanches should befall Mom, and I was satisfied by
a job well done.

   "Nice work," I heard over my shoulder.

   "Thanks!" I said in response and turned to face her.  Mom was a mess. 
Twice the mess as when we started.  A hundred times the mess as she was at
lunch.  But the kitchen was spotless and it wasn't even that late, just
past midnight.

   "Gods, look at you, Jax!" Mom glared at me, her eyes traveling up and
down, twinkling with mirth.

   "You're not exactly in your prime either, Ma." I never called her 'Ma'
and I don't know why I did just then, but it fit; she didn't look like Mom
anymore.  And even after she cleaned up, I didn't think she would ever
again appear the same.  What we had just done defied all explanation and
redefined reason.  I shook my head slowly, unable to stop my body from
expressing the crazy shit that was rolling around my brain.

   "Listen, mister, I'm pretty sure I just gave you more than one reason to
believe this old gal still has a few tricks up her sleeve."

   I gawked at her brazen brag, but couldn't deny its truth.  "Fair enough.
And you aren't old.  Even if you were, you sure don't look like it."

   Mom smiled and blushed.  "'Nuf sweet talk, hun.  Let's get out of this
place.  I'm sick of it!"

   "How do you propose we do that?"

   Mom had a plan.  Just like she always had a plan.  I watched her circle
the room, collecting our dirty clothes in a plastic bag then fetching her
purse and a stack of folded white cloth.  She handed me her keys and
unfurled an apron from the pile.

   "Be a dear and put this on and bring the car around.  I'll lock up and
hop in once I see you pull up."

   "Alright," I said, not seeing the sense in arguing.  It was either that
or step back into those slimy jeans and I wasn't prepared to revisit that
trauma.  I donned the apron and took the key to the car and left out the
back door.  It was late, and our sleepy highway town had maybe two hundred
inhabitants, so there wasn't any fear of being discovered with my arse
hanging out looking like I'd just committed a massacre at a hotdog eating
contest.

   I hopped into Mom's old Buick and fired it up.  I cranked the heat; the
night air was cold and entirely too much of my skin was showing.  I pulled
around front, as close to the door as I could, and waited patiently for Mom
to appear in the window and the heater to warm up.  Coincidentally, both
happened at the same moment as I saw the lights flick off and her
stained-panty-clad butt flash me while she turned to lock the door.  I
reached over and opened the car for her, shoving the door out so she could
slide right in.  Thankfully, I saw she'd grabbed my backpack; I'd totally
forgotten.  She was always so good at things like that; looking out for me.
I'd be screwed if I lost that laptop and she knew it.  Like she knew
everything else about me.

   "Thanks," I said as she dove into the Buick and set our dirty clothes
and my pack on the back seat.

   "Sure thing, hun.  Let's go.  I've never wanted to take a shower so bad
before."

   "Tell me about it," I agreed as I shifted the ancient vehicle back into
gear and pointed us homeward.  About halfway through the short journey, I
heard that angelic sound again; the one I hadn't heard in ages.  Mom was
laughing.  Tears streamed down her face and I found myself again unable to
resist joining her in ridiculous revelry.  Barely able to keep the heavy
swaying car on the road, I zigged and zagged, nearly taking out the
neighbor's mailbox while uproariously cackling alongside the woman who
meant more to me than anything.  My insides hurt by the time we pulled into
the driveway and I could barely see to open the front door of our small
two-story house.

   Mom fell against me as we stumbled inside and I wrapped an arm around
her shaking hips.  She stilled and twisted her head around; it was her turn
to surprise me with a kiss.  We held each other locked in place as our
mirth melted into lust.  Four hands flew up and down, fondling, caressing,
and grasping at each other's filthy bodies.  Mom ran her fingers through my
tousled dirty hair and suddenly broke off our passionate kiss.

   "Jax, you have chili in your hair." And with that single line, never
before spoken aloud, our lust devolved back into hilarity.

   It took several more minutes of belly-aching laughter to finally calm.
It was watching Mom that broke my levity and rekindled the flame that she'd
sparked that afternoon with a spilled bowl of chicken and dumpling soup. 
She was filthy and messy and so, so, happy.  Despite the stains and ugly
smirches, her body called to me again.  I admired her quaking breasts and
jiggling hips and a narrow waist I'd never before held dear.  It was her
smooth soft skin, always hidden behind a hard exterior of quiet suffering,
that I'd found most fetching; a complex and complicated juxtaposition that
boggled my mind and would take me years to unravel.  But I had to have her.
That I knew for certain.  And more than what we'd done in the slop and the
stew.

   "Let's take a shower."

   Mom lifted her wet red eyes at me, her beautiful weathered face still
split by a smile, and nodded her head.  Let us take a shower, I'd said.
And she'd agreed, easy as that.

   I followed her upstairs, eyes glued to her stained ass as it bounced and
flexed, jiggling with a joy that mimicked her fits of unabashed laughter.
She stopped suddenly and I had no chance to save myself.  Face first, I
planted into her cheeks, my nose sliding over slick stained satin and
driving deep into her crack.  I smelled chili and barked out a laugh.  Mom,
of course, was already on the verge of another fit of giggles at my obvious
fixation.

   "Chili butt!" I proclaimed and gave her a playful swat.  Just enough to
cause a girlish squeal and a hop and the resulting quivering waves of soft
supple flesh that I so desired to behold.

   "Nacho dick!" Mom bleated, then turned bright red, nearly matching the
paprika stains that streaked her skin.

   I roared with laughter, harder than I'd laughed at any point during the
past hours of ridiculous tomfoolery; more at her impulsiveness and
embarrassed response than at what she'd said.  She was acting so different
and I loved every second of it.

   When we again stopped laughing and Mom made to turn up the stairs, I
added one final observation.  "It's your fault for always telling me to
keep my head down."

   Mom guffawed and shook her head.  "That's not what that means and you
know it!"

   I chuckled at my supposed cleverness as we finished our climb together,
strolling first into the bathroom as she followed and switched on the
light. I threw back the curtain and turned on the water, watching it crash
into the porcelain tub.

   I felt Mom tug my apron loose and lift it over my head.  Her two hands
circled my waist and a pair of tingling scratches sent shivers up my spine
as Mom's thumbnails turned downward and slipped under the elastic band of
my underwear.  I stood still while she pushed it down, then shimmied my
hips, coaxing the once-white garment to my ankles.  I felt her warm hands
grasp my bottom, kneading my smooth flesh and sliding from my waist to my
hips in slow languid arching movements.

   Mom purred in my ear, "My little boy isn't so little anymore."

   Fuck!  Her mind was as dirty as her body.  My cock jumped and swelled
instantly.  By the time I turned around, it stood at attention and swept a
line across her satin panties, coming to rest on her bulging mound.  I
could feel her protruding hairs prickling through the stained fabric as she
twisted her hips, gliding my glans across her body.

   "Take my bra off, hun," she said softly and spun a slow one-eighty,
artfully maintaining contact with the tip of my cock as it traced a half
circle over her broad thigh, coming to rest over the big red blotch that
covered her backside precisely where my nose had just been.  I took a small
step in, wanting to feel her heat again, and slid my length between her
soft thighs.  She moaned and rolled her shoulders, bringing my focus back
to where she wanted it.

   Reaching out with conviction, intent on unveiling her final treasures, I
quickly pinched and released the clasp over her spine.  Mom pushed her arms
together and the straps began to slide from her skin but hung up on her
sharp collarbone.  Ever the attentive son, I set them free.  Her bra
dropped to the floor and before she could turn, I slid my hands along her
sides and to her front, wanting to feel her softness before I laid eyes on
it.  I touched the tenderness of her two arching swells with my index
fingers and slowly lifted, cupping her lush supple mounds with hands that
overflowed.  I felt her peaks stiffen under my palms and gasped as they
rose to prominent points with my soft touch.

   I pulled Mom tight, pressing my muscled chest against her back and
driving my raging cock into her soiled panties, feeling her humid heat
against my shaft for the first time.  I kissed her neck and kneaded her
softness while thrusting my hips and sliding my shaft between her supple
thighs.

   "Oh, Jax," Mom moaned, tilting her head back and resting her tangle of
messy hair against my shoulder.

   I felt her entire body relax in an instant as she gave way to my loving
embrace.  I longed to see the rare look of peace and contentedness that
must have spread across her face at that moment.

   Lost in tactile pleasure, I paid no mind to the rising cloud of steam
that filled the bathroom.  As much as our bodies demanded to be clean, it
seemed a much more pressing matter had come between us.

   "Take me, Jax.  I want you so badly."

   It was a command.  A ferocious one; spoken in a voice I hadn't heard her
use since I was knee-high to a grasshopper.  There would be no denying her
satiation; just as I could deny her no other thing in life.  Not that the
thought crossed my mind, nor that it ever would since that fateful night.

   I dawdled, still a stupid boy, not wanting to deprive myself of the
sensual tactile euphoria I had thrust myself into.  But Mom had a plan, as
always.  And thanks to a decade of training, I still had sense enough to
know that when she took control, you got the fuck out of the way and let it
happen.  Changing her course was tantamount to stepping in front of a
speeding train.

   Mom dropped her stained panties in a flash, forcing them over my cock
which I'd refused to extract from the comforting embrace of her creamy
thighs.  Down it flexed and back up it sprang, slapping into her wetness
with an audible smack.  Mom howled and I jumped at the fierceness of her
cry.  She bent forward and reached between her legs and took me in her
hand, guiding me into her center; the place from whence I came.  I pushed
into the darkness between her puffy lips and sopping pink folds and joined
her roaring ruckus as I felt her tight torrid embrace for the first time.

   Then all reason was lost.  Jaxon had left the building.  A latent power
came over me and I set in motion the beginnings of an event that would stay
burned forever in my psyche.  I still don't know what happened, but I
lasted; lasted as I'd never thought I could.  It was a feat I'd not equal
again for a very long time.  Maybe it was the two eruptions I'd experienced
in that destroyed kitchen.  Maybe it was my desire to give Mom my absolute
best as I'd always tried to do.  Maybe it was the years of cumulative pity
and regret that I felt dissolve into nothingness.  Maybe it was the
distracting sensations of hot slippery wet gripping tightness around my
cock.  Maybe it was her screams and cries for more, demanding that I
continue to feed my length into her hungry worn-out body.  Maybe it was the
hypnotic rippling of her hips and ass as I careened off her pliable flesh.
Maybe it was the thousands of confusing, lewd, beautiful, immoral, joyful,
and wanton thoughts that scrambled my brain.  Or maybe, it was just Mom.

   I cared for naught but the union we shared; the carnal pleasures that we
were living for the first time.  It was every ounce as sloppy and messy as
everything else that happened that day.  And Mom...Mom was rocked to her
core.  Two decades of shit was chipped from her battered facade and fell to
the floor with each plunging thrust, much as the chili and cheese had done
earlier that evening.  And while her body remained covered in the detritus
of that savory mixture, all else came clean.  Each howling gasp, each
shattering climax, each animalistic moan, each thrust of her hips back
against mine brought another chunk of her failures and regrets crashing
down.  Torn to a thousand little pieces by the intensity of our fucking;
her mess was no more and she was Mom again.

   I'd regale you with the tale of my final gushing eruption, but that
seems so unimportant in hindsight.  I told you this wasn't a story about
me. It was about Mom.  And Mom was all that mattered in that glorious
moment.  She'd finally done it.  She'd finally taken what she wanted. 
She'd finally gotten so pissed off at the world that she reached into its
beating chest and torn out what was hers.  And that was me.  Her and me. 
It turned out that's all we'd ever needed.

   My only regret in all of this is that I should have known.  I could have
saved her a heap of suffering.  But it wasn't my fault; it's just how life
is sometimes.  Sometimes you have to keep your head down.  Sometimes you
blink and ten years pass and then you look up and everything is fucked. 
And sometimes all it takes is a deluge of chili and cheese to finally
destroy your last shred of hope so that you can finally rediscover why life
is worth living.  So I guess it's fair to say I have no real regret.  Well,
except for the corndog thing.  But let's consider that a small price to
pay, shall we?

   I woke the next morning, my skin raw and red from the intense scrubbing
I'd shared with Mom in the bath in the middle of the night.  I felt alive,
more alive than I ever had.  I had to see her again and so I threw on some
clothes and bolted downstairs.  But she was gone; gone back to work.  Gone
back to that greasy shithole that I'd trapped her in.  It was almost enough
to break me; to think that what we'd done the night before might mean
nothing in the end.  But I wouldn't have that.  I couldn't do it anymore. I
couldn't watch her do it anymore.  She'd cleaned her last fucking
kitchen.

   It was well into the afternoon.  I'd slept in.  I'm not even sure what
time we eventually parted ways.  It seemed like we'd lingered in that bath
for hours, neither of us wanting it to end.  I remember wanting to go to
her bed, but I wasn't in a hurry.  I knew that would happen in the course
of time, and it did.  We both needed to be alone for a spell to think about
what this all meant without the distraction of the other liquifying our
logic.  And she needed time to heal.  The mess that I'd cleaned off her
took pieces of herself with it and she had to sort that out; to come back
into balance as the woman she'd long forgotten.

   I opened my laptop.  It was Saturday; I had no real work or school to
do, but I felt the need to cleanse my senses and dive into an activity that
was a little less emotional.

   I had an email.

   Now, you may be tempted to posit that it was the chili and cheese that
altered our fate, and I may be tempted to agree, but I would counter by
saying that this single ethereal piece of electronic communication was the
turning point for everything.

   Jaxon,

   Your algorithm was a hit.  It went all the way to the top.  Our best
analysts couldn't duplicate what you've managed and so it's with great
pleasure that we'd like to offer you a job.

   We've just secured investor funding to ensure our company's future and
we very much want you to be a part of what's to come.  It's an exciting
time and we hope you will find the nerve to join us.  You'll have to move
to Boston, but we feel the package we can offer will more than encourage
you to take the leap.

   Please read the attached contract and get back to me as soon as
possible.

   Holy fuck!  I couldn't believe it!  I opened the document and read the
fine print; six figures, signing bonus, moving costs, paid tuition,
healthcare, retirement, it was beyond anything I could have ever hoped for.
It was freedom.  Most importantly, the Gods had given me an opportune
chance to save Mom; to clean up her mess once and for all.  I could finally
show her that everything she poured into my future finally mattered.  That
I had done it.  That I was successful.  And that I wanted to share the
bounty with her.  She'd earned it, after all.

   It was my turn to have a plan.  It was my turn to take Mom and leave a
world of shit in our taillights.  And it all came together rather easily.

   I printed two copies of the contract.  One I signed, scanned, and
returned; the other I folded and put in my pocket.  I still have that
paper. Actually, Mom has it; I gave it to her.  I'm looking at it right
now; wrinkled, creased, stained, and framed on our bedroom wall.

   I packed a bag with clothes for her and me for several days, grabbing
what few essentials I knew she'd need.  I met the infernal bus and nodded
at the malcontent driver for the final time and took my last trip into
town. I emptied my bank account.  It wasn't much, but it was enough to get
us where we needed to be and certainly more than Mom and I had when we
landed in this dysfunctional town.

   I walked to the diner, duffle and backpack slung over my shoulders, and
strolled into that awful place for the ultimate time.  I saw where she was,
but she didn't see me.  Good, I wasn't ready for her yet.  I went to the
back and found George.

   "Hey, Champ."

   "Hey, George.  Listen, I'm taking Mom away."

   "What?!" They'd spent ten years together so I'd expected some
resistance.

   "I got a job back east.  I'm getting us out of here while I can.  Sorry,
George.  I know what you meant to her and for what it's worth, thanks."

   George broke into a smile that was epic by even his jovial standards. 
"Uh, Jax, did I ever tell you why my chili recipe calls for exactly two
hundred and thirty-nine beans?"

   "No, George," I said, grinning like an idiot.

   "Because one more would make it too farty."

   Gods I wanted to laugh so hard at that man and his horrible topical
brand of humor.  But couldn't do it.  I cried.  I cried like a little boy
and felt his strong arms wrap around my shoulders and smelled the greasy
french fries he'd spent his life slinging.  I knew I'd miss him more than
anyone else in that stupid little town.  Maybe he could have been the dad I
never had.  Or maybe that's a story best left for another day.  Either way,
we shared something at that moment and in doing so, I felt justified to do
what I had come to do.

   "Bye, George," I said, wiping the tears from my cheeks and grinning like
a fool.

   "Keep your head up," he said.  I almost lost it again. 'Up', he said.
Not down.  Fuck, it made so much more sense.  Had he told Mom that?  Had
he known the mantra we shared and what it meant to us?  And how in that
exact room, a little over a dozen hours prior, it all came apart?  I'd
never know.  And I prefer it that way.  George was an enigma and it felt
right to part on such terms.

   Back out in the dining room, I again failed to catch Mom's eye.  She was
busy helping a couple of haggard old men who I'd never seen before. 
Truckers probably, we didn't get many other strangers in this part of the
world.

   Then I saw it.  The straw that broke my back.  Except unlike Mom, I
wasn't so broken as to sit in the slop and bawl.  No, I was seeing red, and
not the red of spilled chili, the red of unbridled rage.

   A crusty oil-stained hand shot out and lifted Mom's skirt.  She swatted
it away with her pad in a move that looked so practiced and common that my
fury doubled in an instant.  The hand was back again, grasping at her
thigh. Grasping at what was mine.  Mom tried to move away, but his grip was
too strong.  Her ankle twisted and she almost fell.  I could see her wince
in pain; the wound on her foot had to be agonizing.  And I saw the fear in
her eyes as she looked around for someone to help her.  She saw me then,
but I didn't see her.  I only saw that son of a bitch; the embodiment of a
decade of toil and torture.

   I'd like to say that what I did next was for Mom, but it wasn't.  She
didn't need saving; she'd survived for years dealing with this kind of
abuse.  No, what I did was entirely for my own catharsis.  As Mom had
lashed out at the floor when she'd fallen from grace, I lashed out at him.
And I only had to do it once.  My fist screamed.  Mom screamed.  The son of
a bitch's friend cowered in fear.  I spat fire at him and he shrank away
like the worthless little shit he was.

   I still hadn't seen Mom.  I walked behind the counter and grabbed her
things and my two bags.  I went to the squeaky door and held it open.  Then
I finally saw her, head held up and walking my way.  I didn't have to ask
her to come, she just did.  After last night, we didn't need this bullshit
anymore.

   I took her to the Buick in silence and opened the door for her and
handed her her things.  I tossed my bags in the back, jumped in the car,
and hit the highway.  We rode for a couple of hours without saying a word.
It was like she knew that I'd finally come for her and there wasn't much
point debating it.

   It was getting dark by the time she finally spoke.

   "Jax?"

   "Yeah, Mom?"

   "Where are we going?"

   I reached into my pocket and pulled out the contract.  And then she
cried.  Little squeaky whimpering cries of joy and relief and pride; not
big ugly messy sobs like the night before.  She knew what that letter
meant. And she knew it was my turn to take her away from the toxic
relationships and bitter memories.

   "Hungry?" she asked me after her tears had dried and our new reality had
sunk in.

   "I hear they have good chili the next town over."

   "I was actually just thinking about nachos."


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