Dweeb Ch. 10 - Scuttled

Charles Womack's head spun. In the last nine hours his world had gone topsy-turvy as circumstances worked to change him from an inconsequential eighteen-year-old high school dweeb into an at-home stud for his own mother and an after-school sex-toy for his English teacher. He dropped his right hand from the Mazda's steering wheel to his crotch and rubbed his tired, but happy, cock through his Wranglers while he wondered, "Maybe Suzie Pomeroy isn't so unattainable after all."

As Charles touched himself, and thought about the popular eighteen-year-old cheerleader who was his unrequited crush, his prick thickened predictably. "Maybe it was only my stupid shyness that made it seem that way," he mused. "After all, she did come over uninvited last night for help with 'Huckleberry Finn.' Now that Mom and Mrs. Krautheimer have shown me what I can do, maybe I can find the courage to show her that I'm not a nobody."

Pulling into the driveway at the Womack bungalow, Charles parked behind his mother's Altima Hybrid then consulted his Fossil watch as he walked to the front door and left the two silver sedans nose-to-trunk in the one-lane driveway. "Wow, almost four o'clock," he thought incredulously. "Didn't tell Mom when I left... hope she hasn't worried that I've been gone so long." While he let himself into the house, he pondered how he might explain his afternoon.

"...no, I'm not at all angry, Ford..." Colleen Womack's voice carried into the entry hall from the living room. Charles double-checked that the large pink-and-black apparel box he carried under his left arm was shielded from view by the dark green lightweight poplin windbreaker which he had wrapped around it. Quietly closing the front door, he transferred his bundle to his off-side as he stepped further into the hall and heard his mother continue, conversationally, "...it's just that I thought I said I would call you next week. Oh! Wait a moment, Ford... I think I heard something..."

Seconds later Colleen appeared in the living room archway to the foyer. She smiled as she waved, pointed silently to the cell phone that she held up to her ear with her other hand, then turned around and said in a hushed imperative tone, "Charlie's here now. I'll call you right back." About-facing, she slipped her phone into her peach slacks' hip pocket and explained neutrally, "That was just your Uncle Wilford, Sweetie."

Colleen promptly stepped forward and changed the subject as she greeted Charles, "Hi! I looked around, but didn't see any note." Patting the iPhone's imprinted shape on her bottom, she added, "Or a text, or a missed call, either." She kissed his forehead fleetingly to show that she wasn't upset, as she asked, "So what's my young scamp been up to today, hmm?"

Colleen wrinkled her nose, but chose not to comment, when Charles' slight, but piquant, body odor assailed her nostrils. He grinned sheepishly at her mild rebuke and apologized, "Yeah, Mom... sorry about that. You were in the shower, umm, and I wasn't thinking, I guess." He looked down at his Converse tennis shoes and decided his lies would be more believable if he began them with the truth.

"I forgot I needed to get you something for Mothers' Day," Charles went on. "So, I went to the Quadrangle Mall. The afternoon just kind of, you know, like, got away from me..."

Colleen's eyes twinkled as she answered coyly, "I thought you already gave me three wonderful presents early, Sweetie." Then, taking up her mother's mantle again, she sniffed the air noisily and said, with mock sternness, but complete sincerity, "A note isn't all you forgot though, young man. You could have taken time to shower in your own bathroom. You smell like you've been in a gym class! Why don't you go clean up, now?"

Colleen rubbed her palm tenderly along her son's jaw and added, "And you could stand a shave, too. No girl really likes whisker burns, you know." Catching the wistfulness in her voice and the sudden itchy pang in her pussy, she dropped her hand behind his behind, then gently swatted him as she abruptly chuckled, "Scram, you!"

Charles merely nodded agreeably while he moved away to the rear of the house. His mother's hinted reminder that he had fucked her twice and then madly ejaculated down her gobbling gullet made his pulse race. Her soft sensual stroke and flirty comment twisted his gut like a whirlpool. As his breath quickened, so too, did he quicken his pace to flee before his stiffening cock made walking impossible.

Unaware that she had done anything other than show honest loving care, Colleen pulled out her phone and redialed her dead husband's brother as soon as Charles closed the bathroom door behind himself. "Hey, there," Wilford Womack answered, on the first ring. "I was afraid that you were..." Quickly shifting his tenor, he interrupted himself, softened his voice and earnestly said, "...Thanks for calling me right back like you said you would, Collie. I meant it when I told you that I had strong new feelings for you. I'd really love to have the chance to show you."

"I'm sure that's true, Ford," Colleen replied with more reservation in her tone than she felt in her heart. "It's just that everything seems to be happening fast, and on Mothers' Day weekend, to boot! He hasn't said it, in so many words, but I'm pretty sure that Charlie has a big thing planned for tomorrow." She clutched her open free hand to her midriff and massaged her quaking bare tummy through her navy poly-blend acetate top. As she remembered how conflicted her emotions were following her fantastic twelve-hour serial fuck-fest, she downplayed her current turmoil by finishing simply, "That's one reason I wanted to wait a few days before calling you."

Wilford answered, "Yes, okay, I get all that." Then, pressing his case forward anyway, he argued, "But what about tonight? Nothing fancy... just a quick bite and a movie... I wouldn't keep you late, but like I said, I want to spend some time with you. You know, with you as YOU, not as a 'fill-in' for a date who got the flu at the last minute... you know what I mean, Collie?" He hoped he didn't sound pathetically needy as he silently cursed, "Goddammit, Collie, what do I have to say? I WANT you!"

Colleen went quiet. Wilford waited. A fraction of a second before his patience expired, she sighed, "Yes, Ford, I do know what you mean and I have to admit I have developed strong feelings for you, too. At the same time, it all seems so complicated... but maybe you're right: I should give us a chance to explore our new relationship."

Sensing imminent victory, Wilford praised the decision he hoped to hear, "Of course I'm right, and you know it, Collie. Charlie's a good kid; a smart kid. I'm sure he's probably ready to understand that, at forty, you're too young to wear a widow's veil for the rest of your life." Gulping, as he took the conversation into dangerous territory, he risked all. "Hell, even if it turns out that you and I should never be anything more to each other than in-laws, I'd like to think that I helped you out of your grieving shell. Friday night was good, wasn't it? I sure thought so!"

Colleen couldn't deny that her sensuality had been thoroughly and dramatically re-awakened. She absolutely didn't want to go back to sleepwalking through her world. Moreover, she realized that if she wasn't already pregnant, she truly wanted to be. Closing her eyes, she prayed in her mind, "Oh God! Let me give Wally a grandchild; or a niece; or a nephew!" Her heart ached as she amended her plea, "Or all three!" Sighing again, she said aloud, "Alright, Ford, let's test the waters. Come by around six."

Elated, Wilford exclaimed, "Atta girl, Collie! And if it helps smooth the way with Charlie, assure him that his old Uncle Wilford isn't selfish: He can have you all to himself tomorrow."

Upstairs, as Charles obeyed his mother and scraped away his dingy-blond day-and-a-half's beard growth, he spoke decisively to his reflected image, "Ten o'clock... that's when I'll do it. I'll say, 'Mom, this is what I had to hustle out of the house to get this morning.' Then I'll hand her the box, like it's nothing, and just say 'Open it, now, please.'"

Glancing left at the present laying on the counter beside his piled clothes, Charles lost his focus when he saw that Mrs. Krautheimer's crimson lipstick had transferred from his dirty dick to the fly-seam on his inside-out peeled-off briefs. As he looked down past his naked stomach to the unrepentant rosy-nosed offender nestled back among his honey-brown pubes, he exclaimed, "Cripes!"

Charles quickly finished his shave, grabbed the stained underpants, then soaked them under the running tap in the sink, and wiped his smooth jowls. Carrying the sopped improvised washrag with him, he stepped into the shower cube, turned on the water and furiously hand-washed away the evidence under the warming spray. Satisfied that he had done his best, he tossed the cotton wad to the floor. Thirty minutes later, in all fresh clothes, he left his surprise gift waiting on his closet shelf and exited his bedroom.

While Charles entered the bungalow's living room to see if his mother was still there, she came up behind him from the kitchen, hugged him lightly and complimented, "Mmm, you smell much nicer, now." But then, as he turned about in her arms to face her, she cocked her head and said, in a quiet serious voice, "Your uncle wants me to go out to dinner and a movie with him tonight, and I said I would. You'll be alright here, alone, won't you? There's TV dinners in the freezer."

Charles blinked, as if that might alter the words he had heard. Angry and disappointed, he stared through narrowly open eyes as he stammered, "I-I guess so... I thought you were staying in... you, uhm, went out with him last night, too, right?"

"Well, yes," admitted Colleen. "But it wasn't like we 'went out', like on a date, or something." Lowering her chin, she spoke softly as she looked past her breasts and avoided her son's piercing gaze. "We had a nice time, though, and, uh, he wants to do it again." Bravely reacquiring his eyes, she said brightly, "I really didn't think that you'd mind, Sweetie. We're going to be together all day tomorrow for Mothers' Day, aren't we?"

"Yeah, whatever, Mom," Charles replied petulantly. Instantly regretting his sulking tone, he side-stepped out from her embrace and mumbled contritely, "I'll... it'll... be okay." Then, passing by and leaving her standing by herself, he said in a flat voice, "I'm going to my room. I've got homework to do. I'll fix something to eat later. Have fun."

"That could've gone better," Colleen mused as she stared blankly past the sofa to the electric fireplace. With a sigh, she turned around and left for her own room to get ready for her evening out. Standing in front of her mirrored double-door closet, she debated changing into a summer-y cocktail dress, then decided her time would be better spent fixing her hair and make-up as she thought, "Besides, he said 'quick bite and a movie'... slacks and a top are just fine for that."

Wilford Womack rang the doorbell at six sharp, and wolf-whistled appreciatively when Colleen answered. She blushed involuntarily as he said, "You look great, Collie!" At the same time, though, his plain cedar-brown Ralph Lauren Polo shirt and pale khaki chinos affirmed for her her own casual attire choice.

Wilford blatantly roved his hazel eyes from the prominent voluptuous bust rising in its D-cup housing beneath Colleen's shiny dark blue top to her comfortably wide hips perfectly framing the invisible nest he knew lay behind her peach-colored flat-front stretch pants. He wondered what color panties she wore and whether he would learn the answer to that question later. Continuing to her white rolled bobby-sox and tasseled brown slip-on flats, he then raised his face again as he joked, "I see you got the 'brown loafers memo' I sent you.

Colleen laughed as she noticed Wilford's own chocolate penny-loafers, "Oh... is THAT what you were looking at? It took you a while to get there..." She grabbed her shoulder-strap purse from the nearby mail table, then stepped outside. Closing the door, she slipped her arm through his and said, "Let's go, I'm famished."

Wilford wisely said nothing, but smiled broadly all the way as the couple walked the path to his red Monte Carlo SS. In the coupe, she asked, "What did you have in mind to eat, Ford?"

While he backed down the driveway and into the street, Wilford answered, "Foghorn's has a terrific steak sandwich and the best plank-fries you'll find. Wanna go back there?" His groin tingled as he thought about other items he would want if they were on the menu.

Colleen remembered the soft jazz and low lights at the little bar where she lost her way in her brother-in-law's arms on the postage-stamp dancefloor. Inhaling a deep breath that she hoped would be a tornado to blow away the moths fluttering behind her diaphragm, she looked to her left and replied, "Sure. Sounds good. I suppose it'll be to early for The Round Notes to be playing."

Risking a speeding ticket in the new relationship, Wilford ventured, "Yes, they don't start up until nine o'clock. But there's an old Rock-ola juke-box, if you wanted to dance while the dinner's cooking." Looking away from traffic to his passenger, he winked as he chuckled, "I'd put a whole roll of quarters in the slot if you'd like me to, Baby."

Colleen coughed and turned her head to the window so Wilford wouldn't see the heat flashing across her cheeks as she remembered the solid 'roll of quarters' he had repeatedly stuffed in her juke-box Friday night. "Mmm-maybe, Ford," she murmured while she squeezed her thighs tight against her reactive pussy.

At Foghorn's Lounge, Elsa McDougal, the whiskey-baritone gravel-voiced middle-aged eponymous bar owner recognized her customers from the night before as they walked through her inner swinging door. She boomed, "Hi, there! If it isn't Johnny Walker Rob Roy and I. W. Harper Boston-Sour themselves! Welcome back, I'm glad you couldn't stay away!" Her tits and belly shook behind her zebra-striped cotton print dress as followed her greeting with a hearty laugh. Waving her hand into the nearly empty joint, she overstated the obvious, "The crowd hasn't arrived yet, so any table you want is up for grabs."

When he came abreast of Elsa, Wilford hailed her back, "Thanks, Foggy. Could you bring us those drinks you just remembered and ask your cook to fix us two steak sandwiches, medium, and one order of plank fries? They're delicious, but we want to save room for desert after our movie." He winked at the proprietor, then laid his left arm around Colleen's shoulders and guided her to the very same booth in the vacant room's dimly lit corner, as far removed as possible from the long, scarred walnut bar. As she slid first onto the red half-circle Naugahyde bench, he followed behind closely then pushed the single candle, glowing in its burgundy globe, to the scarlet-and-black speckled Formica table-top's opposite edge.

Enveloped in virtual darkness, Wilford kept his left arm draped along the tuck-and-roll upholstered settee's back and lightly cupped Colleen's far shoulder point in his naturally curved palm. Snugging her closer to his ribs with gentle pressure, he checked, "So, Collie, how are you doing?" Her right boob's side bulge flattened warmly against his chest and he smiled as he heard her exhale a small puff then relax into his half-hug.

"Fine, Ford," Colleen answered quietly. "But I really am pretty hungry." She was ill-prepared for his kiss when it landed, but she separated her lips and actively welcomed him.

"Me too, Baby," Wilford replied, sotto voce, as he pulled back just as the drinks arrived.

Foghorn set down the cocktails and chortled, "I was going to try to push some appetizers on you, but I see you already got started on your own! Bon appetite, kids, the main course is coming up double-quick."

Colleen squared herself to the table and opened a two-inch gap between her and Wilford without dislodging his arm or hand, then suggested, "Let's not rush, Ford..." Noticing Foghorn returning with the food and two glasses of ice-water, she amended, "Unless, of course, we have to, in order to get to the show on time. Which movie is it, anyway?"

Wilford was chagrined because he actually hadn't planned that far ahead. Acting as if it was his intention all along, he asked Elsa, "Foggy, do you have the Saturday newspaper's entertainment section around anywhere? I want to check the showtimes at the Quadrangle AMC Multiplex."

"I imagine I can find one," McDougal answered as she moved off to hunt. Ten minutes later, she returned, delivered on her promise and discreetly disappeared once again.

"I thought we could pick one together," Wilford lied. Spreading out the movie listings he chewed his steak and pulled the candle globe closer.

Colleen scanned the page and read the options, "Overboard; Breaking-In; The 12th Man; and Book Club all start between 7:20 and 8:10. The others are either too early or too late." Wilford studied the times without offering his thoughts. She pushed the paper aside and admitted, "When you asked me, I was lukewarm to a dinner-movie date idea, remember? None of these is striking an immediate interest. Why don't we follow-up on the 'getting to know you' part and just sit here? We could have another drink, maybe, and then get a Baskin-Robbins to go for desert at your place?"

Wilford could hardly believe his luck, but he wasn't slow to grab the proverbial brass-ring. "That's okay with me, Collie. But, if it's ice cream you want, I have all the makings for a banana split at my house already. We don't have to go to Baskin-Robbins, unless that's something you really want to do." He watched as she finished off her steak while he dipped the last potato piece into the ketchup blob on her plate then thoughtfully savored the spicy fry.

"Yes, okay, Ford," Colleen finally answered as she swallowed her final bite. Then, putting down her knife and fork, she smiled enigmatically as she asked, "But didn't you say you had quarters for the music? Can you find something slow to dance to? I don't want to jiggle my food before it's digested!"

"I agree a thousand percent, Baby." Wilford grinned, while he slid from the booth. "Come on with me and we'll find something that suits you."

After an hour-and-a-half, and another cocktail round, the lounge was beginning to fill with patrons while the Womacks were beginning to get warm and restless. Colleen loved the light buzz that she felt and, as they swayed to The Drifters' 'Under The Boardwalk', she bubbled into Wilford's ear, "There's too many people here, do you know a boardwalk that we can crawl under?"

"You bet, Baby, with a blanket, too," Wilford drawled softly over Colleen's shoulder. He chuckled, hooked his right arm about her waist and aimed for the exit before the song finished.

In the Chevy, Wilford opined, "I'm okay to drive, but I think I'll take it easy and stick to the side streets, all the same. No sense letting an ambitious cop spoil our evening, is there?" He reached out, briefly patted Colleen's left leg midway up her thigh, then pushed the shifter to drive while he assured her, "It won't add more than ten minutes to the trip." As he accelerated on the avenue, a throaty rumble from the coupe's tuned exhausts resonated in her head and she sank back into her seat enjoying the lingering warmth his soft squeeze left on her leg.

Completely opposite to their frantic heated rush the night before, Wilford and Colleen proceeded almost sedately from their parked supercharged chariot in the garage through the door to his kitchen. However, they both knew that they weren't going to eat ice cream. Or, not right away, at least. Flipping on the lights, he suggested, "Why don't you go to den, Collie, and see if you can find a nice jazz CD to throw in the player? Maybe some Herbie Hancock, or Lionel Hampton..."