Fortune Favours the Brave

"But you never buy anything!" Morgan remarked.

"Because it's all cheap crap!"

"Then why do you......? Never mind," he resigned and made his way to his grandmother's room, retrieving the box.

"You can give it to her when you see her," Patty mentioned as Morgan retook his place.

"I don't know when that'll be," he replied.

"When did you last see her?"

"Her birthday," Morgan admitted.

"Morgan!" Patty scolded. "That was more than two weeks ago. You need to visit her more now, since, well you know, your father."

His grandmother was just reaffirming what he knew to be true. He hadn't necessarily avoided seeing her, it was just he was putting off any uncomfortable feelings they'd surely mutually share. He knew that she knew, so to speak. Finding a dildo in your mother's shower wasn't a normal event.

"So what's in the box?" He asked, changing the subject.

"Oh just photos, memorabilia of her dancing," Patty offered, continuing on with the word search puzzle before her. "Your father didn't want it in the house," she added.

Morgan opened the box and a large photo album underneath a trophy came into view.

"Dancing?" He remarked, lifting out the small trophy, a gold figurine of a girl in a dance pose standing atop. "What dancing? And what's Dad got to to with it?"

Patty placed down her pen and looking over her glasses at Morgan, furrowed her brow. "You know your mother danced! You joined in with her when you were little."

A vague memory of playing around in the family room came to mind but quickly faded away.

"Before your father put an end to it that is," Patty added.

Morgan shook his head and lifted out the photo album. "Wait what? What did Dad do?"

Patty removed her glasses completely. "I suppose we can talk about it now. Now that the bastard's shown his true face."

Morgan didn't bat an eyelid at his grandmother's mention of his father. Agreeing with her wholeheartedly.

"He never liked her dancing," Patty began as Morgan opened the photo album to a page showing a young woman that looked very much like his mother on a stage. "Called it 'slutty' he did. And of course when you started to show an interest he nipped that in the bud. Placed that golf club in your hands right away!"

Morgan went back to the start of the album and early photos of his mother he'd never seen. Ballet classes as a little girl. What looked to be dance recitals in her teens and as she aged, ever more professional events. A billfold for the stage-play Chicago.

"We're not sorry about that Morgan, we're all proud of how well you've done. Your mother especially. It's just a shame that it came to the detriment of your relationship with Mary."

It was true. Golf, though he didn't love the game anymore, had brought him a great deal of success. For a time a top 250 player and now full time coach at one of the more elite clubs.

"I seriously didn't know any of this!" Morgan declared.

"Your father for some twisted reason didn't want any evidence of it in the house, especially those later photos," Patty gestured towards the page open in Morgan's lap. His mother wore a corset and fishnet stockings but it was her pose that really caught his eye. Sitting on a chair with her legs spread wide in an overtly sexual manner. Between the closeups of crotches on the television and the smorgasbord of raunchy pics of his mother, even in the presence of his grandmother, Morgan got an erection.

"Are you going to make us a cup of tea Love?" Patty asked, turning her attention back toward her puzzle.

Not wanting to rise up in his current state, Morgan grunted he would before examining the rest of the box. Ballet shoes, more framed awards and beneath, what looked to be clothing.

"But really Morgan," his grandmother stated. "It wouldn't hurt to spend some time with her. A mother's relationship with her son is a special one. A mother and daughter, well that dynamic is always about competition, but a boy and his mom. Now that's a pure love. Every girl the boy meets he'll compare to his mother and the little man she created with her own loins, well, no girl will ever love him more than she."

* * * * *

"So one of my clients cancelled tomorrow afternoon," Morgan explained. "I was wondering if you wanted to come and play nine holes?"

His phone call came at the right time for Mary. Staring at an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels at 12:30 in the afternoon, she had nothing but her thoughts as company and they were proving to be a poor distraction.

"I haven't played in years!" Mary laughed.

"Good, then you won't show me up in front of my peers," Morgan quipped. "So it's a yes?"

"Of course Honey, I'd love to," Mary sighed. "And Baby, thank you."

Morgan wondered whether she was thanking him for the golf date or not mentioning her dildo but hung up feeling good about himself. She sounds so sad he thought. Nana's right, I should spend more time with her he told himself.

Mary put the bottle of whiskey away and went to her bedroom to look for her old golfing outfit. They'd played a lot as a family. Regularly when Morgan began showing talent for the game. It had always been pleasant being outdoors with her men back then. 'Outdoors' Mary repeated to herself and the drunken memory of her birthday came back to her. 'He's an outdoorsman, works iron and wood with his hands' she paraphrased. The image of golf clubs came to mind, irons, woods, and the thought caught her breath.

She opened her closet and found on a rack the white polo shirt and matching skirt. Small, read the label. Ten years it had probably been since she'd worn it and despite its age, she couldn't fault its quality as it hugged her body, the skirt taught over her buttocks and tightly clenching her breasts. She turned and didn't hate her reflection and as she thought of her son's dark forest green eyes, she wondered if he'd like her in it?

* * * * *

Mary walked along the beachside strip looking for the fortune teller's shopfront. "Don't tell me it doesn't exist," she joked with herself as she struggled to remember where they'd found it on that drunken night.

She was there for answers. The words of the 'gypsy' had haunted her overnight. 'He will see you at your worst and love you all the more.' Morgan had held her hair back when she'd vomited, said he loved her. That qualified surely. 'He will shower you with gifts.' Morgan had given her a shower as a gift! 'He'd learn her most intimate secret and never say a word.' She knew he'd seen her 'playmate' suction cupped to the wall of the shower and yet he'd let it slide. There were too many coincidences. A month before she would have laughed off believing anything a so called psychic said to her. Now she was not so flippant.

She'd passed the shop before she noticed it. Everything looking different in the light. Closed, she peered through the glass door and saw movement inside before knocking. The woman that came to the door looked familiar and it took a moment to realize she was one and the same.

"You look twenty years younger," Mary marvelled and the woman smiled.

"Makeup Babe," she laughed.

"And I notice you've lost your accent!" Mary herself smiled, understanding her whole visage that night had been an act.

"What can I say, people expect that sort of thing," she winked. "Would you have believed anything I said to you if I gave it to you like this?"

"So you remember me?" Mary asked, relieved.

To this the woman's face clouded. "Yeah, I remember."

Mary sat with the woman in the back room of the shop drinking coffee.

"And you see it in the glass ball?"

"No not exactly," the woman now looking ten years younger than even herself Mary thought, explained. "The crystal ball is just for show. I think the things, I see them in my mind. It's like when someone has drawn a cartoon in the corner of a book and you flick through to see the image change."

"And that's the vision you have of people, like a little comic book?" Mary asked.

"No," the woman refuted. "I see the words of the book under the thumb, flying by so very quickly, like reading someones biography in snippets and they form as images in my mind."

"But you saw something else that night. Something you told me to never mind. What was it?"

The woman looked in Mary's eyes and nodded. "I saw him in your arms."

"The mystery man?" Mary asked, leaning forward.

"Yes and no. I saw a child, a baby in your arms. He was yours I know that. But he was also your mystery man. It didn't make sense and of course, that can't be! Can it?"

Mary leaned back and breathed out noticeably.

"Yeah look, I'm sorry my prediction didn't work out but sometimes I get it wrong you know," the fortune teller explained. "I mean you can have your twenty back if that's what this is about?"

"No," Mary replied, a calm coming over her. "No I'm satisfied with my fortune." She crossed the woman's palm with another twenty 'shekels' to show her gratitude for opening the store and left the strip looking for the nearest bus stop.

* * * * *

"That's it, head directly over the ball," Morgan directed his mother from behind. He tried to focus solely on her stance but found himself admiring her body instead. He remembered her wearing the outfit back when they played together as a family, more than ten years he fathomed but never recalled her looking so good. That she had put on weight was undeniable, the straps of her bra clearly visible pressing through the white polo shirt, but it was her ass his eyes kept coming back to. The skirt was definitely shorter than most of the women wore on the course, the leg of her pastel blue boy short underwear noticeable whenever she bent forward.

"Yep, now just spread your legs a little!"

The words sent an excited shiver down Mary's spine. My son's ordering me to spread my legs, she laughed internally. She could feel his eyes on her from behind, he'd be looking at my ass right now, she reasoned. Can he see my panties? She asked herself. She'd noticed her reflection in a window whilst awaiting the bus and was shocked at how short her skirt had looked now she was in public. It explained the admiring glances she'd seen from men from almost the minute she'd left home.

Morgan walked around to examine her stance from the side. It was a strange experience forensically studying her. Staring at, assessing her body with impunity. Able to almost ogle without fear of being discovered.

"You really do have great posture Mom, your back's perfectly straight. Now remember the follow through," Morgan directed.

Mary swung and the ball sailed sweetly down the fairway before looking back at Morgan for appraisal.

"How was that?" She asked.

Morgan lifted his eyes from her breasts to her face, her pony tail pulled through her cap swinging over her shoulder, her eyes glinting in the sunlight.

"Perfect," he admitted.

A par four, Morgan watched his second stroke land only feet from the pin and was delighted with his mother's squeal of enthusiasm.

"You really are good at this aren't you!?" Mary commended taking the opportunity to herself admire another's body, her son so lean, muscular and tall. His tan pants hugging his butt. An ass she could see herself digging her nails into.

"Well we're all good at something," Morgan replied, looking back and thinking of his mother's history of dance. Now that he knew of her past, he could see the evidence in her stance, the alignment of her feet, her posture. He took hold of the cart and they walked side by side towards Mary's ball. "By the way, I know your secret!" He added.

The comment came like a bolt of lightning out of the blue sky to Mary. 'Her secret?' Did he mean her 'playmate' in the shower? Why would he bring it up now of all times? She felt her face flush and was grateful they weren't facing one another.

"My secret?" Mary asked, swallowing.

"I think you know what I'm talking about," Morgan vaguely stated.

My God, Mary thought. He wants to discuss it. The idea her son wanted to talk about her masturbating in the shower was both humiliating and arousing all at once. She could feel a dampness in her panties and knew it wasn't sweat in the hot afternoon.

"Honey I didn't know you'd find it," Mary tentatively ventured.

"Well it wasn't hard," Morgan elaborated. "Nana told me exactly where it was."

His words were confusing for a moment before she realized he wasn't talking about her dildo at all.

"Oh, my box!" She gasped, relieved but somewhat disappointed. Discussing her masturbatory habits with her son becoming more and more alluring.

"Yeah, why didn't you ever tell me you were a dancer? Nan says it has something to do with Dad."

"Oh it wasn't important, your father didn't like it was all."

"To hell it wasn't important," Morgan rebuffed. "That was your history, what made you. It just gives me another reason to hate him."

Mary didn't rebuke her son for his words towards her ex-husband. Now that she herself thought of it, his attitude had been unreasonable from day one, that she'd been living under his thumb for so long, her perspective had been entirely skewed.

"So I have it in the car, you can throw it in your trunk when we leave," Morgan proposed.

"Oh I don't have it," Mary admitted.

"What?"

"I sold the car," Mary stated and again felt herself blush.

"You sold the car!" Morgan repeated. "Why?"

"I needed the money Honey," Mary explained. "The mortgage and bills."

Morgan stopped on the fairway and turned to his mother. "Mom, why didn't you say? How did you get here?"

"The bus," she proudly stated. "And it's not your problem. Your father just left at the wrong time is all, everything came at once."

She was breaking Morgan's heart. Without thought he left the cart and put his arms around her, holding her body to his chest. Her breasts so soft against him.

"You're right, you're not my 'problem.' You're my mother, and that makes you my life." Her head nestled snugly on his shoulder and he could smell her hair. His hands pressed the straps of her bra and it took all his willpower to not caress them down her body. His cock reacted to their closeness, slowly filling with blood and before she would no doubt feel it, he broke their embrace.

"We'll talk about how I can help later," he gestured behind her. "Now we have to deal with that."

They stood on the edge of the bunker and looked at Mary's ball in the sand.

"I told you it landed in there!" Mary laughed.

Morgan took the sand wedge from the cart and handed it to his mother and they entered the sand trap.

She had felt it! Her face resting on his collarbone, his hands on her back, willing him to lower them and touch her ass, lift her skirt and delve inside her underwear. And then she sensed it against her belly. She knew the feeling of a man pressing against her. Her husband in bed before their relationship dissolved; a pervert on a crowded train once, his erection touching her hip. This was entirely different. This was the respectful shyness of a boy, her boy, unsure of whether he'd overstepped the bounds of a mother/son relationship. She wanted to tell him he hadn't. That he had every right to touch her. With his hands, with his mouth, with his cock. She could feel her panties saturated, her pulse raced.

"Now your going to want to hit beneath the ball and place your weight on your front foot," Morgan coached, examining her stance. She was standing all wrong, her back slumped, arms bent.

"No straighten your back Mom," he suggested wondering why her posture had all of a sudden abandoned her. "And again, spread your legs."

Yes. Mary thought. I love it when he says that. Her poor stance was deliberate and as Morgan approached, her plan had worked perfectly.

Standing behind her, Morgan placed his hands on her body. "May I?" He asked.

"You may," Mary sighed. Out of the breeze it was so hot in the bunker. She could feel her back sweating, her clothing all of a sudden feeling so restricting.

"You need to straighten up Mom," he explained, holding her ribcage and preventing her slumping. He ran his hand down her left side to her hip. "This foot can angle out some," he suggested before leaning further in to reach around and touch her arms.

Mary pushed her bottom back to meet him and although he was no longer hard, she could feel his bulge against her. He straightened her arms, his chest to her back, their entire bodies touching. For Morgan the pose he'd taken was entirely unprofessional. However, it felt as if she was intentionally pushing her ass back into him, was she not aware his cock was against her buttocks?

Again the inevitable happened. More sudden than previous, his cock twitched into life and probed her crack. He felt a breath escape her lungs but if anything her body pushed further back into him.

"Now dig in, twist your feet into the sand," Morgan whispered into her ear and over-exaggerating the movement, Mary wriggled her ass over her son's groin.

There was no denying what was happening between the two. Both mother and son engaging in the unspoken intimacy. Morgan chanced it and running his hand back down her ribcage and hip, circled around the front of her leg and pressed her inner thigh below her skirt.

"Now just spread your legs more Mom," he breathed, coaxing her legs apart and Mary's cheek turned until their lips were only a inch apart, almost kissing.

"Can we play through?" A voice interrupted them from behind and Morgan quickly backed away from his mother, shielding his erection from the seniors looking on.

"Yeah, of course," Morgan smiled, hoping his behaviour hadn't been so overt to cause rumours around the club.

He looked back at his mother who coyly swung the club before her, butter not melting in her mouth.

What the fuck is going on? He wondered.

* * * * *

Morgan pulled the Mustang up in his mother's driveway and they walked together towards the house. "Oh I forgot!" Morgan remarked and headed back to the car.

Mary allowed her eyes to drift from her son's ass to the light reflecting off the front bumper, the mustang logo taking her by surprise. 'He rides horses' the fortune teller had stated. The galloping horse badge yet another piece of the puzzle falling into place.

Morgan carried the box of dance memorabilia into the house and placed it down in the living room.

"So what's for dinner?" He asked.

"You're going to stay?" Mary excitedly replied.

"I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be," he laughed and Mary playfully slapped his arm, lingering on his bicep he noticed.

"I know you're joking but I'm glad anyway," Mary smiled. "I don't know, pizza?"

"Sounds good, my shout," Morgan quickly proposed. "I'll order the family feast, means I can have it cold tomorrow!"

'In the strangest place you will wish to make love but at the ballet after a feast it will happen,' the words of the fortune teller rang in her ears. Her desire for him in the bunker, (would they have fucked then if no one had come along?) the family feast... It was all so literal, her fortune playing out before her as if making love to her son was destiny. An incestuous bond that couldn't be broken or denied. It was the first time she'd thought of the word. Incest. Such a simple pretty word, yet so laden with insinuation, sin. 'At the ballet,' she wondered. What was that about? She didn't have to wait long to discover.

* * * * *

A half empty pizza box sat on the coffee table surrounded by her trophies, ribbons and a nearly empty bottle of red wine. The photo album perched across their thighs, Mary turned another of the pages and laughed at the costumes she had worn as a child, her garish makeup, comical stances.

"So Nana was an original Dance Mom!" Morgan joked as seated on the floor before he turned to recognise his grandmother in one of the photos.