My Other Mother Ch. 07

"How far did you have to bend?"

She stood and imitated her stance at the shop with her back to me, bending at the waist to a ninety degree angle with one hand slipped between her knees and looking back with a giggle. Her full, excruciatingly beautiful lips were plainly visible under the apex of the hiked hemline of her skirt. Her puckered flower just above it was no less visible.

"Oh my god, I can see... everything."

"I know," she said almost giddily as she straightened, sitting on the edge of the bed again.

"Did you pull your skirt back down?"

"Yes, but the boots weren't your size, so... Well, I had to put them back, right? So I did, bending over again, but that time I stayed like that while I checked through the sizes."

"You little slut," I playfully accused, working the front of her tank top down until her tits fell out.

"I know! So, I finally find a pair that's your size, waterproof and in good shape. I stand straight and take a little look around the shop with the back of my skirt hiked up so they can all see and, when I'm ready to pay for the boots, I turn around and they're all looking at me with their hands in their pockets!"

"They... what playing with themselves?"

"Yes! So, I go to the counter, smiling and polite as if nothing is amiss."

"Did they say anything?"

"Not really, just the shopkeeper. They all just stared at me with these big grins. So I haggled the guy down to half price. Ha! Anyway, then I just left! I pulled my skirt down just outside the door and came back here!"

"Sounds like you had a great time."

"Oh, I did! I loved it, thank you so much!" she enthused, pulling the sheet down and rubbing my bare chest while coming in for a kiss. That kiss led to some pretty heavy breathing while we frenched each other needfully.

"Mmmmm! Oooh, sweetie pie," she gasped, "Mummy loves it when you tell her what to do! Mmmmm!"

She came in for another prolonged, aggressive kiss, squeezing my side and raking her nails across my belly while I held her to me, lost in her passions once again.

"Mmm! Oh, Honey, I need your cock!" she hissed through her teeth, her hand throwing the sheet back further. "Mummy's so fuckin' horny!"

She moaned desperately, gripping my shaft and pumping it slowly with that amazing touch of hers.

"Mmmmm!" she expressed in frustration. "I need-"

"Mum, let's have a sixty-nine."

"Yes! Ohhh, yes! Can I be on top, Sweetie pie?"

"Only if you promise to swallow every sticky drop of my cum."

"I promise, baby," she breathed, climbing on the bed while actually licking her grinning lips.

I love a good sixty-nine with my mother, and this was one of the best. Just watching her throw a leg over my face in that tight, short skirt, those wonderfully soft inner thighs surrounding me while my lips moved closer to that perfect pussy, the last one in the world they had any business kissing, was almost enough to make me cum.

I pulled her down to me with my hands at the top of her ass while she deepthroated me right off the hop, making a lewd choking sound in the process. I jumped and opened my mouth, covering her whole pussy and started gently sucking while flicking around here and there with my tongue.

We both came simultaneously and quite quickly, she crying out helplessly, me grunting and huffing like an animal as we clutched one another tightly. We even stayed that way, sleepily kissing and licking until we fell asleep a bit later, totally relaxed and mostly content.

(Knock, knock)

We both jerked awake instantly.

"Who is it?" Mum called, sounding already completely awake and alert.

"It's me."

"Just a second, Roxy."

She carefully got off of me, gave me a little smile and let her in the door with her skirt around her middle, tits hanging out.

"Hi Ka- Oh..."

Mum closed the door and remarked with a filthy grin, "You have no idea. How'd it go?"

"Just like you predicted. How'd you know?"

"Trend spotting is a little hobby of mine. When was it all over?"

"About a half hour ago, about quarter after nine. I came right here after."

"Hm. Uh, I wonder if I could sleep with you again tonight?"

"Anytime, Kathleen."

"Thanks' Roxy. It's nice knowing I can count on you."

"Always. Hey, Steven, how was your first day at the new job?"

"Hey, Roxy. It was good."

"It was not good," Mum ruled. "You should have seen him when he got back here. Actually, I promised him a nice, full body massage before bed. Care to get in on that?"

"I very much want in on that," Roxanne assured with a filthy smile.

Part 3

The boots were way better. My feet stayed dry and the superior treads made it possible to not fall all day, although I was still liberally splattered with the black mud by the time the shift was over. This didn't really bother me until just after lunch.

I thought it was a cat at first. It was the first time I'd ever seen a rat and I had no idea they came that big, so I guess it'd be a natural first impression under questionable lighting, but when it moved I knew what it was right away. I was repulsed to my core, suddenly unable to bear the thought of being down there with the thing and, in the blink of an eye, I crossed the six or seven feet between me and the rat, shovel blade poised in my upraised arms. I brought it down with all my might just as the thing opened its jaws, exposing sharp, yellowed teeth with a switching tongue and went to jump at me. It moved about an inch before I neatly cleaved the thing in two, the blade of the old shovel driving down into the dirt like some industrial guillotine.

It actually tried to drag itself towards me, staring up at me hatefully, it's jaws snapping, hissing before it died.

"Whoa, fuck!" Andy, another shovel hand and the one other guy there who was my age exclaimed. "That was fuckin' awesome dude! Holy shit, I've never seen anybody move that fuckin' fast!"

I turned around, my body full of adrenaline and his wide smile faltered a bit.

"Shit, man, you're intense."

"I... don't like rats."

"That's for fuckin' sure, dude," he laughed a bit nervously as he regarded me. "Can't wait to see you handle a big one."

That didn't bode well, but at the moment I was more concerned with his reaction to me, suddenly remembering Mum killing that mouse. Another stupid coincidence.

The others all came over and commented, but I made light of it, trying to calm my nerves and returning my body to work, my mind back to its contemplations with a new item on the table.

Joe also had a moment with me. I recalled how he looked at me that time in our room and wondered if my eyes ever looked strangely black and empty, but also bright blue. I wondered if they looked that way right then. And I'd been drinking during the past weekend.

However, it wasn't like I'd never been drunk before, my graduation night attested to that rather nicely, even though I acted a lot drunker than I was and I wasn't the type to party like that very often. If my hereditary condition was taking a stronger hold because of alcohol, I speculated that it would have taken the opportunity to emerge before this.

As far as what my other mother said about 'just liking the stuff', I wasn't sure how far I could believe that. Mum said that crazy people shouldn't drink. I began to wonder once again if Marie drank and soon started stressing about my impending visit, the one that was making the hours at work seem to fly by.

I'd totally forgotten all about the rat and what the mud all over my face might consist of by the time I crawled out of the cellar for the last time that day. I walked to Shoreline Residential, deciding on the way that I'd just tell Mum I was out for a walk to work out all the knots, stopping at a Tim Horton's to clean up as well as I could in the bathroom.

Maureen Kennedy was a kindly looking woman, a little overweight and in her early, maybe mid fifties. Her gray hair was pulled back and, in her peppermint green uniform, her professionalism in person was like it was on the phone. Along with that, however, was the same undertone in her voice and expression when she looked at me as though they'd never had a visitor before.

There was a quick introduction to a woman named Audrey Chapel, a small, birdlike woman somewhere in her early forties, but also with grey hair and a more pronounced, underlying nervousness. She pretended to be busy in the pantry while listening to Maureen and I talk over the table in the kitchen of the old building.

"I'm sorry I didn't have time to clean up a little better." I offered after smiling my thanks for the coffee she passed me.

"It's no problem, I understand," she assured, sitting across from me with her own hot coffee. "So... I take it you're not Sheila's son."

" ... Sheila?"

"Yes, uhh, Marie's daughter? You don't know her?"

"No. She comes here?"

"Once, almost two years ago. I bring this up because... well it didn't go very well. Marie had an episode and I wanted to ask you to not bring up that name with her."

"Oh. What happened?"

"Well, like I say, she had an episode. She became very upset and had to be restrained and sedated."

"Did they argue?"

"No. It happened shortly after your aunt stepped into the room. I just had to make sure you didn't mention Sheila to her for Marie's own good."

"I understand. So, my grandmother is... crazy?"

" ... She has a mental illness, yes."

"What's her actual diagnosis?"

"Well... She's diagnosed as Schizophrenic, but sometimes it's hard for the doctors to make a diagnosis where mental illness is concerned and, to avoid looking like they're in the dark, they'll sometimes just stick a diagnosis on the patient that best matches up to the symptoms."

"I understand. How long has she been here?"

"Almost nine years. Before that she was at a different home and before that she was at Centracare until they closed and tore it down. Before that, she was in Ontario."

"Is she... I mean, can she talk and stuff?"

"Oh, yes. She can communicate, but... well, she does have an affliction and I don't know if you've ever experienced a person with a serious mental disorder, but don't expect the things she might say to be... well, sane."

"'Serious mental disorder'? How serious? Like on a scale of one to ten?"

Here, she looked away from my face, her eyes ever so quickly flicking to the pantry and back before she answered.

"On a good day, five. On a bad day, eight. When she's having an episode... ten and beyond."

"I see. And what kind of day is today?" I asked with a light grin.

" ... A good day."

"I'll try not to upset her. She takes meds, right?"

"She takes so many meds we almost don't have to feed her. But meds aren't a cure, just a control measure, and it's best not to trust them too far, especially with extreme cases such as Marie."

"Is she safe?"

"Yes. She's a small woman and, like I told you over the phone, confined to a wheelchair. ... One thing, though... men can't work with her. She, ahh... has a healthy appetite, even at her age and she makes no apologies. Whether she'd grab her grandson or not, I don't know but you probably don't want to get too close, at least at first."

" ... Alright. Has anyone else ever visited her besides Sheila?"

"No, never. Other than Sheila and now you, we have no information on her family whatsoever."

"Do you have contact information on my aunt you could pass along?"

"No, and even if we did, we'd have to get permission from her first."

"Oh. Um, can you tell me what she looked like?"

"Only a little like Marie in the face, but with the same build. Thin, short- just over five feet -blonde hair, in her early forties... very attractive."

"How did she react to Marie's episode? Was she upset?"

"Yes. Anybody would be. Marie accused her..."

"What?"

"(ahem) She accused her of some bad things. I'd rather not repeat them."

" ... Does she know about my visit?"

"Yes, I told her."

"How did she react?"

"She's... looking forward to meeting you."

From the pantry, Audrey put in with a soft, almost fearful voice, "She can't wait."

Maureen's eyes flicked to the pantry again before adding almost as an excuse, "Other than Sheila, she's never had a visitor, so she's... excited."

"Did she know about Sheila's visit beforehand?"

"Yes. She usually whispers quietly to herself off and on, but she stopped that when we told her. Stayed quiet until the episode."

"Uh huh," I said thoughtfully. "Well, maybe we just better get to it, huh?" I asked, having all the answers from her I figured I'd get and eager to get on with it before she started wanting some of her own.

"Sure. She's in her room, come with me."

I followed her through the house, checking out various sad cases as I went, not seeing anything like my other mother in any of them. They seemed more like the walking dead than the vibrant personality I tried to compare to them. We stopped at a door and she said one last thing.

"Would you like me to sit in with you?"

" ... No. I'm sure it'll be alright."

She seemed somehow relieved about that as she knocked softly and was answered by the sweetest little voice I'd ever heard from an old woman, along with a striking, almost childlike quality to the positive tone.

"Come i-in." it sang.

Maureen opened the door and let me inside the small room. Between the bed and the window sat a woman that was completely unlike those slack-jawed dullards and halfwits in the rest of the house. Hers was the vibrant personality of my other mother and it showed so clear, so surely from the second I laid eyes on her, the instant mine locked with hers. But the shocking part was how she looked exactly like Mum, except older. The resemblance was as uncanny as this woman's beauty, the only difference apart from her age being her small body and clear, bright blue eyes. Old woman or not, I found her very attractive and my heart sped up quickly as I noted that indescribable, empty, dark quality to her eyes that Mum shared except much more pronounced than hers. I couldn't say anything.

"Marie, this is your Grandson, Steven," Maureen said clearly, her professional smile firmly in place, but visibly strained now.

Marie stared right back at me with the beautiful smile of my mother. It was like I couldn't move and the more I looked at this woman, to who the years had been very good to, the more I saw to hold my attention.

She looked at Maureen and politely directed, "Leave us, dear."

" ... Have a nice visit...," Maureen managed, looking at both of us in turn, her polite tone near the breaking point as she quietly left the room.

We looked at one another for a few seconds before she said in that voice that made my cock twitch, "You're Ashleigh's boy, I know it. You look just like her father except you have my eyes! (giggle)"

I realized I was enthralled by my surprisingly attractive grandmother and it bothered me on a level that it never did with Mum, yet I still couldn't look away. I wanted to please her.

"You're very pretty, Grammie Marie."

(What the fuck!?)

"What a charming thing to say, sweetie pie," she cooed happily, adding in a conspiratorial whisper, "Why don't you come a little closer?"

My boots were moving across the polished hardwood floors almost before I knew it, before my mind could fully grasp what was wrong with what she'd just said, the affectation she'd used. It swirled around my head as my mind made grabs for it, distracting me from her impossible allure when I was about four feet away and bringing me to a stop.

Breaking contact with those all too familiar eyes enabled me to come further to my senses, but my heart rate was still up, showing no signs of slowing. Something was very wrong here and the dream about Pastor Marx flashed ominously through my head. Marie appeared to watch me gather myself with motherly, amused interest before leaning forward in her wheelchair and sniffing the air in my direction sharply a few times. Her strange power of persuasion faded with her smile as she sat back, looking at me with a curious sneer that was also just like Mum's.

"You're Kathleen's. You tried to trick me!"

"I didn't, I..."

"Shut up! How is it that you look just like my Walton, and what do you want?" she harshly demanded.

"I don't know. Mum said I look like... her father. Like you just said, but I didn't reali-"

"Your mother is a whore!"

Okay, that pissed me off. Mum might have liked being treated that way, but that was far different from the woman she was.

"You've got your daughters mixed up," I boldly replied, still avoiding direct eye contact. "Kathleen's a good woman who knows her place, like you always were."

This indirect compliment seemed to calm her a little. She stared for a few seconds before suddenly turning, covering her face with her hands and having a brief, rapid fire, whispered conversation with herself. I couldn't make out what she was saying, but when she peeked through her fingers at me the hair at the back of my neck stood up. After about twenty seconds, she lowered her hands and turned to face me again.

"What do you want here, boy?" she asked warily. "Does your mother know you're here?"

"I have questions I want to ask. Answers I need to have."

" ... Do you, now? Why would I give any answers to you?"

"Why wouldn't you? Do you have something to hide?"

"No!"

" ... How did you know I was Kathleen's son?"

"I'd know anything that came through that stinking twat."

"How?"

"Your smell, boy. I know my own."

She allowed a short pause while I processed this, then she asked for the second time, "Does she know you're here?"

After another short pause, "No."

"Does she know I'm here?"

"I couldn't say."

"Couldn't, or wouldn't?"

"I said 'couldn't'."

She turned and covered her face for another brief, but heated conversation with herself, this one ending with, "No, no, NO...!" before she spoke again.

" ... We don't trust you, boy. Give me one reason why I shouldn't scream rape."

"I'll give you two. First of all, nobody would believe you. Second... you may not trust me, but you don't want me to go."

"Liar! Liar! You need me to believe that so you can get your precious answers! I know the ways of the Jedi!"

(The Jedi?)

"You mean like... What?" I asked, totally perplexed by this.

"You know what I mean, alright. Those are the answers you want, aren't they?" she asked with a devious smirk.

"Uhh, that's from Star Wars. It's a movie, not reali-"

"I know that, you young fool!" she snapped. "And if you don't know what I'm talking about, then none of my answers will do you the slightest bit of good because you'll be asking all the wrong questions! So there!"

There was no doubt she was sharp from the way she was able to deal with me, but she seemed somehow confused and even immature at the same time. I resolved to try plowing ahead, remembering what Maureen told me about talking to crazy people. Except, this particular crazy person was apparently able to tell her daughter's grandchildren by their smell.

Sighing as though giving up, I feigned, "Look, do you want me to just leave?"

" ... No. Not yet."

"Then you'll answer my questions?"

Rolling her eyes, she said, "Sure. For all the good it'll do you, why not? What do I care? What do you want to know?"

"Grammie... Did you drink?"

"What? What kind of question is that?"

"Was there ever a time in your life when you liked to drink?"

"That's none of your business."

"You said you'd answer my questions."

After another impromptu discussion with herself, she answered, "Yes, what of it?"

"Every day?"

"Yes. What else was there to do? I was home all day. Lots of housewives drank back then, so what?"