Just a Thought

It happened out of nowhere one day during a workout session. In retrospect, I suppose there had been signs before. It must have started about the time I hit puberty. It was around then that I developed a knack for finishing other people's sentences. Not everyone, and not all the time, but every now and then I would get a weird sense of deja vu when someone close to me spoke and I would ask, confused, "Didn't you just say that?"

But this was different. It was as if my mind were a radio left on during a really long drive through the desert. Most of the time there was just static, with a sudden burst of sound from some stray radio wave every once in a while. On this day it was like coming in range of the relay tower. The DJ came through loud and clear and the message they had changed my life forever.

I had finished school a couple of months ago and deferred my college application. My parents wanted me to follow in my dad's footsteps and become an engineer. They had pestered me and hired tutors and did everything possible to make sure I got the marks I needed to get into a good college. I had done all they asked, got the marks, barely, and was all set. Then I balked at the last minute.

I wasn't sure I wanted to be an engineer. So my dad had given me one year to decide. I was supposed to be doing internships and working menial jobs that would prove he was right and then meekly go into my engineering degree. But, what I really wanted was a year just to have fun and be free of people ordering me about and telling me how to live my life. I just wanted to have control of my own life.

I was in the garage, benching 185 pounds as my warm-up. My academic life may have been in the doldrums, but I was determined to take my already athletic body up to beast mode. The door was open to let in what little cool air there was and I was building up a pretty healthy sweat. I was about halfway into my set when I heard a moan. I paused, thinking I had just imagined it. It sounded like it was right inside my head.

Then I heard a voice say, "Good God, look at his arms."

The strange thing was I recognized the voice. I ought to, I had been hearing it since before I was born. It belonged to my mother.

I shook my head and raised the bar again for another set.

"I remember when Jeff had arms like that. God, I loved having them wrapped around me..."

I stopped. This time I was sure I heard her voice, there was simply no mistaking it. It cut off abruptly as I slotted the weight back into the bar catchers and sat up.

Sure enough, there was my mom, standing by the entrance to the garage, holding a large glass of iced lemonade. Her expression was oddly guilty, a hint of color tingeing her tanned complexion.

"Oh. Hey, mom," I cleared my throat and then, giving her an enquiring look, "Did you say something?"

She smiled her 100-watt smile. It was an incredible smile. It was a well-known smile, her face beamed down from dozens of billboards all around town, promising to sell your house for a lower percentage than the competition.

Having shaken off whatever was on her mind, she replied, "No dear, I just got here. I wanted to know if you would like some lemonade? I was making some for the PTA meeting at Laurie's school. I have a quick session there before I have to pick her up from cheer practice at 4. But it's such a hot day I thought you might like some too, so I made extra."

"Yeah, that's great, Ma," I said, slowly, turning my head from side to side as if I might be able to see around her to whatever weird trick she was playing on me. I had definitely heard her voice, but what had she been saying?

I studied her closely. She met my gaze for only a moment and then looked down. I saw her pull in her lips and shift her weight. It was so unlike my mom to show any crack in her self-confidence. I was completely perplexed.

My mom was an incredible woman. I got my workout genes from her. Only just in her forties, she had the whip-taut body most twenty-year-olds would kill for with a fullness in her bust and backside that only maturity could bring. She must have been heading out for a midday gym session because she was looking incredible in a pink tank top and black yoga pants. These clung to her shapely body and emphasized her remarkable physique.

Unfortunately, I had not inherited her work ethic. While I spent my life trying to do as little work as possible she was a full-time mom who ran her own real estate business. She was successful enough that she could choose hours that suited her best, giving her time off during the day to work out, run errands, as well as drop and fetch my sister from school.

I often wondered how she did it every day and still looked as immaculately turned out as she did. I shook my head, my dad was a lucky guy.

"Shit!" She said.

I snapped my head up from where I had been admiring her generous hips, lost in my reverie. She had said that so loud it sounded like she was shouting in my ear. It was so unlike my usually composed, utterly unflappable mom to swear.

"Shit! He saw you, Toni. Your son fucking saw you checking out his body and now he thinks you're a total fucking psycho."

Although her face remained largely expressionless, I could see her eyes darting nervously beneath her dark lashes. Her lips had not moved the whole time she had spoken.

"Mom?" I asked, confused.

"Yes, dear?" She replied in a completely different tone to the one I heard before. It was much smoother, far calmer. More like the mom I knew.

Then I heard the other voice again, "Oh God, he is looking at you. He knows. He knows, you dirty whore. He is going to see how you look at him and he is going to be horrified. Your cunt is dripping wet just from watching him work out. What if he looks down and sees your lust leaking through your tights? You're not wearing any underwear, you dirty whore."

I rose up off the bench, my mind spinning, trying to figure out what was happening. I did not look down, though the effort to resist was almost painful. If I did she would surely know I was staring at her pussy.

Moving with more confidence than I felt I picked up a towel I had laid close to hand and dabbed the sweat off my shirtless torso. I needed to buy a moment to think while, at the same time, watching my mom out the corner of my eye, trying to figure out her game.

"Are you okay?" I finally queried, when I sensed the silence becoming uncomfortable. She still stood proffering the glass, now dripping with condensation.

"Fine dear, why do you ask?" Her face was smooth again, her expression bland.

Was what I heard before really coming from her? It sounded like it was being played on a speaker, but inside my head. It was her voice, but at the same time, it wasn't. Sometimes it sounded like more than one voice. Was this a prank? It seemed completely unlike my mom to pull a stunt like that, and the words being said were just insane.

"Stay cool, Toni," I heard her voice again, while her face remained locked in its smile, "Just look him in the eyes and smile. Don't look down to his chest. Don't look down. Don't see his abs. Oh, God! His abs."

I was only a couple of strides from her and I stopped. When I heard that last part I watched her eyes drop down to my abdomen and then back up. Did she just lick her lips?

Realization was dawning on me. Was I really hearing my mom's thoughts, or was this some kind of hallucination? Maybe I was about to have a stroke. I sniffed the air to test if I smelled burned feathers. I wasn't sure that was actually true for strokes or, for that matter, what burned feathers smelled like.

I decided to test out my emerging theory.

"Hey mom, random question. Think of a number between one and ten."

"Seven?" I heard a questioning reply. Again, there was no sign that she was speaking.

"Marlon, what are you playing at?" She was flustered, I could see that now. My mom was always pristine, from her perfect quaff of thick dark hair to her unblemished skin and precisely manicured fingernails. She was the MILF archetype, and I had never seen her face a challenge she did not master with a smile on her face.

Until today.

But then, I would not have known anything from her expression. It was that voice, and it was getting louder and more insistent. Now that I was so close to her I could hear it muttering constantly. It was mostly random and indistinct, but I caught the occasional word or phrase. Things like:

"He's too close."

"Even his sweat smells good."

"You're his mother!"

"Slut!"

"Slut! Whore!"

Shaking off the tumult of voices I asked, "Was it seven?"

"Honestly, Marlon, what has gotten into you?"

I damned her composure. I had to know if what I was hearing were really her thoughts.

"I wish you would get into me. Shut up. Slut!" The confused other voice snarled.

"Was it seven?" I repeated.

"Good guess. Stay calm. Get out of here. You need an intense workout and a cold shower. Wipe out these thoughts of Marlon taking charge of you, ordering you to... Stop it!"

Her actual words were dismissive, "This is silly, Marlon. Do you want the lemonade or not?"

I felt sure it had been seven from her evasiveness. I had to press further, "How about between one and a hundred. No. One and a thousand."

"734, what you got on your Math SAT. Just enough to qualify. You nearly killed me, making me drag your lazy ass all the way to the finishing line."

Aiming for coolness, she replied, "No, Marlon. I don't want to play games now. Just take the damn lemonade" I could see she was getting worked up though, far too worked up for just being bothered by this silly game.

"He's so close. I could just touch him. I'm his mother. I can touch his arm. Maybe his chest. No! Stop it! This is wrong!"

I ignored the chattering voice and probed, "Was it 734?"

"What?"

"The number you guessed?"

"Marlon," she sighed tiredly.

"Was it 734?" I was insistent. I had to know if this thing was real. I took her by the shoulder and held her.

"Oh, God. He's touching me. He's so forceful. If he just slid that hand a little lower and across... Toni!"

"Mom?" I gave her a little shake.

"Yes," she hissed.

Her other voiced yelled, "How the fuck did he guess that?"

A thrill surged through me. If the voice I was hearing was really hers then she was thinking dirty thoughts about me. Nothing like as dirty as the thoughts I had of her every time she was in my presence, but still. I adjusted my stance so that I was even more in her personal space. Her large breasts were just an inch from brushing my sweaty chest.

I scrutinised her face, trying to get final confirmation. This was like having my wildest fantasy confirmed. Feeling the intensity of my gaze, her eyes lifted slowly. They flicked nervously to the side before finally settling to stare deep into mine.

"He knows!" The voice wailed, "He can see how you lust after his teenage body. How you want him to take you and have his way with you without fear of consequence. He's your son! He's your son! He's your son! Dirty whore."

"Mom, it's okay.." I began, hearing a huskiness enter my voice.

"I have to go," she stammered and reeled back a step.

"I have to... here," she put the glass of lemonade down on a worn and chipped workbench at the entrance to the garage. The surface was uneven and her hands were shaking.

As she turned to run away from me the glass rocked violently from side to side. The momentum of the sloshing ice and liquid magnified the motion and before I could move the glass tumbled off the workbench and dashed itself on the cement floor, scattering glass and ice chips.

My mom half-turned at the sound, but seemed to be too preoccupied to deal with it, "Just leave it," She ordered, "I'll tidy it up later."

And with that she ran down the path and up into the house, slamming the door behind her.

I shook my head, staring at the mess at my feet. I looked from that to my hand, which still bore the residual warmth from her shoulder. Had that really just happened? If it had, then why had it happened? I had no idea why at that moment I could hear my mom's thoughts so clearly.

"Holy shit," I thought, "My mom wants me."

It was a little while later, after I had used an old broom and a dustpan to tidy up the mess in the garage, that I finally went back into the house. Lifting weights was suddenly very far from my mind. I knew I couldn't leave things as they were. Something had happened out there. Something that was too close to the fantasies I've been having since I was twelve.

My thoughts more in order, my resolve hardened (along with my cock) I pressed the remote to close the garage door and stepped into the house.

I found my mom in the kitchen, apparently she too had given up on her work out. She was standing under the air conditioner with her backside resting against a counter. She had her eyes closed, clearly relishing the cool air, and a glass of lemonade held to her chest, just below her neck. Condensation from the glass had run down the bare flesh above her top, following the curve of her big tits and slithering into the valley of her cleavage.

I licked my lips, imagining lapping the cold water off her skin. With the conditioned air blasting down on her and the cold glass held to her bosom, I could see the bumps of her nipples pushing out against their lycra prison.

I watched her cautiously from the doorway, straining my ears, or whatever it was I had heard her thoughts with before. I could hear nothing.

I held back then, still wondering if the whole thing had been my imagination, or if it had been some freak cosmic event that had now passed. Either way, that cold lemonade looked good and my mom could not avoid me forever.

I cleared my throat as I stepped into the kitchen.

Grey eyes flicked on with the intensity of a pair of high beams. They zeroed in on me and I saw the barest flutter of her eyelashes.

"Got another one of those for me?" I asked tentatively, keeping my distance.

She shifted her weight, her plump backside remolding itself around the edge of the marble counter. She looked like she might be searching for an exit. Finally, after a long hesitation, she nodded towards the fridge.

I approached her carefully, like I would a wild creature, picking up a glass off the counter and moving to open the fridge.

"Mom, are you okay? You seem, I don't know, a little distracted." I hedged as I poured myself a glass from the fridge.

I saw her force her full lips into a smile, "It was nothing, Marlon. I was just being silly. It must be this heat." She fanned herself with her hand. I was so alert to her now I caught everything and magnified it in my mind, even the slight jiggling of her big tits as her arm wafted through the air.

I had to take a big swig of the lemonade to stop myself biting my lip. The liquid was so cold it burned its way down my throat, the tart sweetness only hitting me a beat after I swallowed. It was delicious.

I wanted to lick it off my mom's tits.

Whatever I had heard earlier it had taken the faint desires I had for my mom, bundled them up into a tight ball and detonated them like a grenade inside my head. My mind bore permanent scars from the encounter I would never be able to erase. It seemed every part of it was embedded with shards of her memory.

I watched her eyes continuously, seeing how they glanced down my body.

"He hasn't put a shirt on."

"There!" I thought, "That was the voice." It had started up again as soon as her eyes had traveled over my body.

"God, I want to feel those muscles. He looks so hard. Like he's carved from wood."

I grinned knowingly at her then, taking another big gulp of lemonade.

"What?" She quirked a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me.

"Nothing," I shook my head as I sidled closer to her.

"Marlon, you're acting very strange today."

I was close to her now, close enough to breathe in her scent of honey and wildflowers.

"Why does he have to be so gorgeous? He's your son, Toni. Not only that but he's a jobless layabout. You can't be attracted to him. Please just forget this. Think of someone else. Think of anyone else. Think of your husband. His father. Oh God, Toni, you are definitely going to hell!"

I was right in front of her now. Her hands twisted on the lip of the marble counter nervously. I heard the clink of her over-large diamond engagement ring on the stone. I stood in her path now, she was completely hemmed in. There was no way past me without making a scene.

"Marlon?" Her voice came out soft, pleading almost.

I raised a hand and touched the silken wing of her dark hair. Her lips moved but no words came out. I knew the risk was insane. The risk of approaching any girl like this had low odds at the best of times. But, your own mother? In any conceivable real-world scenario the odds had to be as close to zero as made no difference.

But I wasn't a normal person that day. I was someone who had been gifted the winning lottery numbers from on high. I knew I would regret it forever if I did not play them

I heard her inner voice shriek a million indistinct nothings that amounted to little more than blind panic.

"It's okay, mom," I breathed, my hand brushing her face, my thumb tracing her high cheekbone.

"Oh fuck!" Her inner voice screamed, "Oh fuck! Is this a come-on? Is your own son coming on to you? This isn't happening, Toni. It's not. Abort! Abort! Get the fuck out of here you dumb bitch. I don't care if your legs have turned to jelly, snap out of it! You are not in love with your son. You are not!"

"It's okay," I soothed, leaning in close and cupping her lovely face in my palm.

"Is he leaning into kiss me? He can't be. It's not possible. He's your son! But his lips look so soft. You can't! Maybe just one kiss? One innocent kiss won't hurt. Do something, Toni. Do anything!"

I moved slowly, lips slightly parted, eyes hooded as I tilted my head slightly and closed the last few millimeters of space. My hand holding the cold lemonade hovered over the counter an age. At the same moment it clicked down on the granite surface our lips touched.

I was nearly knocked back by the barrage of voices. Some screaming, some cheering, all of them trying to out shout the rest. There were so many messages sparking through her brain in that moment it was no wonder she was paralyzed. I pressed home my advantage, knowing that, although there were no outward signs, this was what she wanted. This was what her deepest, darkest desire was snarling for.

I kissed her more deeply.

"Don't, Toni. Don't you dare kiss him back! I don't care how good it feels. I don't care if it feels like there is a fireworks factory exploding in your tights. He is your flesh and blood. You raised this boy. You should be running!"

But other voices, softer, more insidious voices were strangling the panicky ones. Slowly covering them like a creeping pool of oil until they were snuffed out and that seething voice of need ruled over all.

I felt her lips flutter to life and then she was kissing me back. Her lips parted and my tongue darted in. It met hers and they began to play like a pair of newly acquainted puppies.

"Holy shit!" My mind was screaming, I could feel her massive tits being squashed between our bodies. I was in the kitchen making out with my mom. Holy shit!

My stance was awkward at first, my arms dangling useless by my sides. But, as our kiss lengthened and I felt her melting into me, I let my hands glide down to land gently on her hips. I could feel her warm skin through the thin layer of stretchy material.

"Oh God, Toni. Did we dream this? Are you dreaming it now? His hands are actually on you. Those gorgeous, powerful hands. Don't stop. Don't stop moving those hands baby. And don't stop kissing. If we stop for even a moment I might realize what we're doing and... No, don't even think about it. Be in the moment. Be in this moment and just try not to think ahead to what a pig-fuck of a disaster this is bound to turn into. He's your son! Dirty, dirty whore."