Mrs. Maitland's SAD Valentine

bypatientlee©

Brad was putting the push mower back in the shed when his mother called across the trailer park that she had made lunch for him. Their trailers were on opposite sides of the common area. Until last May he had lived with his mother in her trailer. Until George had moved in, that was.

"I made ham sandwiches," his mother yelled, loudly enough for the whole trailer park to hear.

"I'll be right there," he yelled back. He stowed the mower away, hoping it would stay there until spring, and then walked across the common area to his mother's trailer. He hoped George wasn't there. He liked him well enough, but he wasn't in the mood to listen to George pretending that he was Brad's father.

George was sitting at the table when he arrived. Brad's good mood went downhill in a hurry. George looked up at the scowl on Brad's face and said, "Who pissed in your Cheerios?"

"Huh?" Brad asked. "Oh. Nobody. Nothing. I'm fine." He sat down and took a bite of the sandwich his mother placed in front of him. He made a face as he swallowed.

"What's wrong?" George asked him.

"Tastes funny. Did you check the date on this ham?" he asked his mother as he inspected the sandwich.

"It's fine. I bought it yesterday," she said.

Brad sniffed at the sandwich one more time before getting up to get a Coke out of the fridge. As he reached for the can, he spotted the jar of Miracle Whip on the second shelf, right next to George's Genny Lights.

"Miracle Whip? You've got to be fuckin" kidding! Is that why my sandwich tastes like shit?"

"Bradley, please. Your language.

"George likes Miracle Whip, so I buy that now," she said.

"It's disgusting. Can't you buy regular mayo for me?"

"Honey, you don't..."

George interrupted, "You don't live here anymore, Brad. If you want regular mayo, buy it yourself for your own house."

He knew that he shouldn't be as annoyed as he felt, but he couldn't help himself.

"You know what, George? I just mowed your fuckin' lawn. You could repay me by not being such a tool," he said as he got out of the chair, threw his sandwich in the garbage, and stormed out of the trailer, slamming the door behind him.

He heard George yelling behind him, but couldn't make out what he was saying.

"Why the fuck does he hafta be on my case all the time? He's not my fuckin' father," he said out loud as he stormed back to his own trailer.

He threw his Easy Mac in the microwave, and took a piss while he was waiting for it to cook. His mood was foul now, and he thought seriously about having a beer with his lunch. He looked at the clock. He had to leave in just over an hour. "Crap," he thought. "I can't fuckin' do that."

Brad tossed the pile of laundry onto the other end of the couch, and sat down with his lunch. He brooded aloud as he shoved forkfuls of macaroni into his mouth.

"My mother doesn't give a fuck about me. She replaced me with fuckin' George. She can't even buy me some fuckin' mayo. Assholes. Both of 'em."

On some level, he knew he was being unreasonable, but he was pissed.

His phone rang, just as he tossed the Easy Mac container onto the coffee table where it would stay.

"Hello," he barked into the phone.

"Well, good morning to you too, sunshine. It's Tayna. I thought you might call me after the bowling alley, but since you didn't, I thought I'd call you."

"Oh. Hey. Uh...I've been busy. I was going to call you later today or tomorrow." He tried to lie without sounding like he was lying.

"Yeah. I figured you were busy."

There was an awkward silence that Tanya rushed to fill.

"Anyway, I thought maybe we could go out this weekend. Maybe Friday? I thought maybe we could go, like, to the movies or something. What do you think?"

Her words fell out of her mouth faster than Brad could listen. He wondered if she was drinking or just nervous. Probably both, he decided.

"I work until eleven on Friday, so I guess that won't work," he said.

"What about Saturday? I'm free Saturday night," she said.

Brad paused, shaking his head. He didn't feel like going out. He had to go out to go to work five days a week. On Saturdays he just wanted to stay home and get drunk.

"Brad? Are you still there?"

"Yeah. I'm here. Yeah. I guess I'm free. Like seven on Saturday?"

"Seven is great. Do you want to pick me up?"

She gave him her address, and then she hesitated.

"Is everything OK, Brad? You sounded a little pissed off when you answered."

"Yeah. I just had a fight with my mother's boyfriend. He thinks he's my father or something."

"Oh. OK then," she said.

"I gotta go, Tanya. I'll see you Saturday."

He hung up thinking that he could always cancel the date if he didn't feel like going out.

~~~~~

Their third date was at the bowling alley.

Brad lined up his ball, took three steps while he brought the ball back, and let it go. As soon as it left his hand, he knew it was another bad one.

"FUCK!"

"I just might win this one," Tanya said, grinning.

"You don't need to be so fucking happy about it," he said.

"Jeez. I'm just kidding," she said. "I'll make it up to you later."

"Well, don't just kid. This is the worst I've ever bowled. I'm pissed at myself."

"Sor-ry," she said, refilling both of their cups from the pitcher of Miller Lite. "You need to relax, Brad."

"No. I don't. I don't like to be teased, and I don't like to lose," he said. "It's like when fuckin' George tries to tell me that I can't fight with my mother, just because I don't live with her anymore. I have a right to be pissed."

"I'm sorry. I won't tease you anymore," she said.

They finished the game and the pitcher, and walked to Brad's car. Tanya tried to grab his hand, but he stuffed both of them deep into the pockets of his denim jacket.

She tried again in the car. This time she reached for his zipper instead of his hand. This time he didn't try to stop her.

By the time they reached the first stoplight, she had gotten his fly unzipped and had started to work on the button. With the car stopped at the light, he gave her a hand, unfastening the stubborn button and pulling his cock out of his pants.

"A mobile hand job?" he asked.

"If you'd like. Or I could blow you. It's up to you."

"Well, blow me then."

The light turned green, and she lowered her head into his lap, taking his slightly aroused cock into her mouth.

"Only a little interested, huh?" she said with her mouth still full of cock.

"Suck it and see, sweetheart," he said.

She responded by taking him all the way into her mouth and sucking him gently as he hardened against her tongue. She flicked her tongue up and down his length.

The bowling alley was only a few miles from the trailer park, and by the time he was fully erect, they were in his driveway.

He didn't bother to zip up, which surprised Tanya.

"Aren't you afraid someone will see?" she asked. "I mean, didn't you say your mother lives here too?"

"It's dark out, and I don't give a shit," he said, making a half-assed attempt to cover himself with his bowling bag.

They stepped onto the small, wooden deck and went into his living room. Tanya looked around the room at his mismatched furniture, stained carpet, and cigarette-smoke-stained walls. He had moved the laundry from the couch to the spare room and thrown out most of the beer cans, hoping he'd get lucky. Now that he had Tanya in his trailer, he wished he had found the motivation to vacuum.

"Nice place," she said. Her eyes fell on his softball championship trophy and team picture on a shelf near the TV. "You play softball, huh?"

"Yeah. We were league champs this year," he said.

"I washed the sheets today, you know, just in case," he added.

"You just assumed that I was going to fuck you?" Her eyes widened in mock indignation.

"No." He dropped his head and looked at her sideways, trying his best to look adorable. "I just hoped that you would."

She smiled at him. He took her hand and led her down the narrow hallway to his bedroom.

"You're much friendlier when your dick is hard," she said while she pulled his pants down over his hips. He stepped out of them and pulled his t-shirt over his head.

"I wonder why," he said.

Tanya placed a hand on his chest and a hand on his cock and started to stroke him. A drop of pre-cum escaped onto her finger, and she used it to lubricate the head. He groaned.

The hand on his chest moved to his nipple and gave a sharp tweak. He yelped, and she repeated the motion on his other nipple.

"Lie back and relax. I'll finish that blow job," she said.

She stripped off her clothes, nestled herself between his legs, and placed her lips around his cock. She moved her head up and down over his pelvis as she took him all the way to the back of her mouth. Her hands rubbed his balls, just as they had the first time she sucked him off.

Up and down. In and out. She fucked him with her mouth.

"Uhhh... I'm getting close," he said.

She lapped up and down the length of his shaft, bringing his orgasm closer and closer.

"Oh, baby. I'm gonna come. I'm gonna come in your mouth. Here it comes."

His body went rigid and his cock hit the entrance to her throat. He felt the spasms along her tongue as she continued licking and her mouth moving when she swallowed.

"I like your cum," she said, when she finally released his cock from her mouth.

"That was awesome," he said. She climbed up to lie next to him, and he reached for her nipple.

She took his hand in hers and guided it down her body and between her legs. He stretched his fingers toward her opening. He felt her wetness and tried to poke his finger inside of her.

"Wait, Brad," she said. This time she guided his hand to her clit, where he rubbed with his forefinger.

"Not like that. In a circle," she said. He tried again, swirling in a hard, tight circle right on top of her sensitive button.

"Ow! Brad, have you ever touched a girl down there before?"

"Of course I have," he snapped.

"Have you ever made a girl come?"

"Yes! Of course! What's your problem?"

"This isn't working for me, Brad. Do you want to try going down on me?"

"Jesus Christ. You tell me you don't like what I'm doing, and then you want me to lick your pussy? Oh, yeah. I'm really in the mood for that now. Thanks," he said, his sarcasm cutting through the room.

"Have you ever done it before? I mean, going down on a girl?" she asked.

"Spread your legs."

"I don't want you to do it because you think you have to. Really, you don't have to..."

"Spread your legs, I said." Brad got to his knees and pushed her thighs apart. The truth was that he hadn't gone down on a girl before. He had sex with a couple of girls in high school and he had gotten blow jobs before, but he had never tasted pussy. The idea excited him, of course, but he didn't have any idea how to do it.

He used his thumbs to pull Tanya's lips apart, and he took a minute to inspect her anatomy. He had seen plenty of pussies in videos, but this is as close as his face had ever been to one.

He put out his tongue and brushed it against her flesh. He was pleasantly surprised that the taste wasn't as strong as he had thought. He licked up and down, feeling her slippery wetness coating his tongue. The more he collected, the better he liked it.

He slurped enthusiastically, but without skill, usually missing Tanya's clitoris completely. After lapping all over, he shoved his tongue inside her as far as it would go. He fucked her with his tongue until his jaw started to ache. Her lack of movement or verbal encouragement frustrated him after a few minutes though, and with a tired tongue, he crawled back up to his pillow.

"How was that? Did you come?" he asked, breathing heavily.

His face fell when he saw Tanya's pained expression. His disappointment quickly turned to anger when she didn't answer.

"Christ, didn't you feel anything?"

"I'm sorry, Brad."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"I didn't want you to be upset. Like you are now. It's easier for guys. I'm sorry," she repeated. She reached for her shirt.

"So, what? We're just done here?" he said.

Tanya sighed and shook her head. "Brad, I think you should take me home."

~~~~~

By the end of November, Brad had a harder time being grateful for his job.

First of all, the head custodian, Dave Strauss, was an asshole. Brad remembered Dave from his high school days, mostly because he had gotten in trouble for vandalizing lockers when he was a freshman, and he had to stay after school for a week, scrubbing his artwork. It was totally worth it though. He had drawn huge sets of cocks and balls on every locker in the freshman hallway in Sharpie marker. It was awesome.

Dave Strauss certainly didn't agree, and he still held the incident against Brad.

"I don't know how the fuck you landed this job, but I'm gonna be all over your fuckin' ass every goddam night," Dave had told him on his first night on the job. And he was, just as he had promised.

The way Brad saw it, he had all night to finish his assigned classrooms. As long as he emptied the trash, swept the floors and cleaned the boards, he should be able to work at his own pace. He kept his ear buds in and went about his business.

Dave expected that he would "hustle up" and be done in, like, five hours so they could work on fixing things and other stupid shit. Brad was pretty sure that wasn't in his job description. By November it was taking Brad all eight hours to get his classrooms cleaned.

"Alright, Ma. I'll be over tomorrow," Brad said into the cell phone, the annoyance in his voice coming through loud and clear.

"You said that yesterday, Bradley. George is getting upset."

"I know. I know. Something came up. The gutters will still be there tomorrow. Why can't George do it anyway? They're his gutters now." Brad's foot slipped off the desk where he had propped them, knocking some papers onto the floor.

"You know George has a bad back. The gutters need to be cleaned before the weather gets cold. You need to do yours too. Please, do it tomorrow, honey. You know I hate to ask you, but George..."

"Ma, I gotta go. I'm workin' here." He hated talking to his mother at work. She seemed to think that just because he didn't live with her anymore, that they needed to talk on the phone every day. He picked up the papers he had knocked down, and replaced them on Mrs. Maitland's desk.

"Shit. A footprint." He hoped Mrs. Maitland wouldn't notice when she saw the papers.

He looked at the clock. It was 9:47. Just over an hour left to go.

He was really beginning to hate this job. Having to clean up after other people, especially the fuckin' teachers? They spent four years making his life miserable when he went there, and now he had to clean their boards and empty their trash and sweep their floors. Fuckin' ridiculous. If these teachers were so smart, they should be able to clean their own damn classrooms.

"Brad!"

He heard Dave, the head custodian, calling him from the other end of the hallway.

"Brad! I'm heading for the dumpster. Are you ready?"

He stalked out of the room, carrying the wastebasket to the can in the hallway. He dumped the trash in the barrel, once again cursing the fuckin' teachers.

~~~~~

On Thanksgiving, Brad was lying in his bed and thinking of Tanya.

They had dinner once after his disastrous attempt at giving her head. They met at Vinnie's for pizza. It was a pleasant enough night, but he just couldn't decide where their relationship was going. He liked her. She was good-looking and fun, and she gave a hell of a blow job, but his feelings for her didn't seem to be warming up.

And he was a little afraid to have sex with her.

~~~~~

He trudged across the common area, kicking a toy truck that one of the neighbor's kids had left near the swing set. It wasn't that he didn't want to have Christmas dinner at his mother's, but he hoped George would leave him the hell alone.

The gifts were simple this year, not because he couldn't afford better, but because he couldn't stand the idea of going shopping. For his mother, he got a Walmart gift card. For George, lottery tickets. The old guy loved scratching the silver crap off them.

Dinner was roast beef, mashed potatoes, creamed cauliflower, and sweet potatoes. George's oldest daughter and her kids stopped by for dessert and brought apple and cherry pie from the bakery. It was a nice, drama-free meal.

After dessert Karen took her kids out to play on the swings in the common area.

"C'mon, Uncle Brad," she said on her way out. "Chat with me while the kids burn off the sugar-high."

"You know, I'm not their uncle. Our parents aren't even married to each other," Brad said.

"What difference does it make? They live together. I'm here for dessert. Pretty much makes us family, right?" she asked.

"I guess so," he said, shrugging.

"How's the new job going?" she asked.

"I like the paycheck, that's for sure," he said. He chuckled. "It's weird though. I mean, being in the classrooms with no supervision. I keep thinking someone's going to be walking in to tell me to get the hell out."

"Do you, like, poke through the teachers' stuff late at night when nobody's looking? See what kind of shit they took away from students during the day?"

"No! Remember Mr. Strauss, the head custodian? He's my fuckin' boss. He'd kill me if he caught me doing that. He's an ass," he said.

"How about the Teachers' Room? Do you go in there? We always thought they had a Margarita machine in there.

"Hey! Tommy! Don't hit your sister," she shouted, interrupting herself to break up the fight brewing between her kids.

Brad laughed. "No. No Margarita machine. There's a Coke machine though."

Karen looked at her watch. "Crap. It's getting late. I wanna be home before it gets dark out.

"C'mon, kids. Let's go say goodbye to Grandma Susan and Grampa."

Brad followed them inside. He wanted to watch TV.

George waited until after his daughter left to start picking at Brad.

"Why don't you go help your mother in the kitchen?" he asked, flipping through the channels on his new flat-screen.

"Why don't you?" Brad said.

"Seriously, Brad. You should help your mother. She cooked all morning. The least you can do is load the dishwasher."

"George, I'm getting a little sick of you telling me what to do. You're not my father, you know."

"Brad, I'm just suggesting that you could show your mother a little bit of respect," George said.

"Whatever," Brad said, and he stood up and stomped off to the kitchen.

"What do you need, Ma?"

"Nothing, sweetie. You can go watch TV."

"No. George thinks you need my help. What the hell do you want me to do?"

"Sweetie. Your language. You don't have to. Just go sit down."

"Have him load the dishwasher, Susan!" George yelled from the living room. "You can't coddle him forever."

George got out of his recliner and went to the kitchen. He walked straight into Brad's face and wagged his finger.

"You're a grown man, for Christ's sake. You need to take adult responsibilities. Help out around here. If you can't even help with the dishes, you shouldn't be eating here," George said.

"George. It's Christmas. Please. Not today," Susan said.

"I don't give a fuck what day it is. I'm tired of your son being a lazy piece of shit. You can't even get him to put his dishes in the sink. And have you seen his trailer lately? There's shit everywhere!" George said.

"George! Watch your language too!" she said.

"I don't need this shit. I'm going home," Brad announced. "Merry fuckin' Christmas."

"Brad. C'mon," his mother said as the back door slammed shut.

It was drizzling when he walked across the common area of the trailer park. He was muttering under his breath, ranting and raving about George.

"How dare him," he said. "He's not my fucking father. Who the fuck is he to tell me what to do? My mother was fine with me sitting in the fucking living room. Why does he have to be such an asshole?"

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