Man of the House

The room was small and Anthony Jr. hadn't done anything to make it feel large. He had a twin bed, a massive book shelf stuff with DVDs and comics and a variety of other things, and a large desk for his computers. There was only a couple of square feet of space in the middle of the room to walk around. And that (like everything else in the room) was covered in dirty clothes, Mountain Dew cans, and empty Doritos bags. I had given up on asking him to clean it up.

As I walked in, Anthony Jr.'s back was to me. He was on his computer, wearing a headset. I knew he was playing a video game. Anthony Jr. took after me, more than his father, I realized at that time. He had the same dark hair (though a bit shorter), the same round face and nose. His acne had cleared up, but unfortunately that had just given him a bit more of a baby face. His eyes were like mine too, large and dark. Though, they were hard to see with greasy hair draped over them. He had a small, wiry body. His elbows and his knees looked large on his unmuscled frame. If he had not been wearing a shirt, I knew I would see his ribs under his skin. He was not an unattractive boy. Just so very...boyish for 22.

"Shut the fuck up guys, she's my mom!" I heard Anthony Jr. say and I realized that one of his friends in his game must've seen me standing by the door and said something. I couldn't help but smile a little bit. Anthony Jr. threw a quick glance back over his shoulder at me. I saw his eyes grow wide.

"God mom! What're you wearing?" he asked, mortified. He turned towards his computer and slammed it shut. I looked down at myself. I was wearing a skin-tight white "wife-beater" tank top. I could actually see my nipples poking out through the thin, aged fabric. It was not a large enough shirt for me and it was tight around my waists, not dropping all the way to my hips. My bellybutton was exposed. I was wearing a pair of red hip hugger panties that accentuated my flat stomach and also my legs. I looked back up at my son and shrugged.

"You didn't have to stop playing your game," I said, "I just wanted to say goodnight." Anthony Jr. had swiveled his chair around so that he was looking at me. I felt his eyes wandering all over me. Any mystery that remained regarding those few seconds of silence with Dyland were now put to rest. His eyes were practically bulging out of his head. The same boost of self-esteem I'd felt earlier surged again.

"Why are you dressed like that?" Anthony Jr. asked. I looked down again and shrugged.

"It is so warm in my room," I lied, "I just wanted to be comfortable." At this point, I realized that I had absolutely no plan for what I was doing. I had just been sort of dragged in here by my fears and my unconscious thoughts. I had no idea what I was going to do. I just let myself go now, trusting the instincts that had brought me here because I didn't really have any choice now.

"Oh," Anthony Jr. shifted uncomfortably in his chair. I smiled a little bit.

"Have you thought at all about what we talked about last week?" I said, taking a few steps into the room and sitting down on Anthony Jr.'s bed. I leaned forward slightly, allowing my son to see down my shirt. His eyes followed me there.

"Huh?" he asked, after a long minute, his eyes rising back up to mine, "What did you ask me?" I sighed, annoyed.

"The continuing education classes at the Community College. The last day to register is Friday. Did you think about it?" I asked. Anthony Jr.'s eyes flickered back down to my tits and he shook his head. I decided that I really had his attention now. I was going to go for the jugular, ask the questions that I never really had the courage to ask before. I felt confident now.

"Why not? Why don't you ever do any of the things I ask?" I said. I leaned back now, putting my hands behind me on the bed and propping myself up. Anthony was still staring. He shrugged.

"I dunno," he said. A childish answer.

"Is it because I've been a bad mother?" I asked, honestly laying out my fears to him, "Have I failed you? Is there something that I should have done for you that I didn't do?"

"What? No!" Anthony Jr. said instantly, shaking his head vehemently. "Why would you even think that?" I shrugged. I thought about retreating now. The next thing I was going to say was going to hurt his feelings, and I didn't want to do that. But Anthony Jr. was still looking at me. Staring at me. The confidence was there. I needed to use it to say what needed to be said.

"You aren't exactly setting the world on fire kid," I said to him softly, "I can't get you to go to school. Or get a job. Or even clean up your room" I tossed a Mountain Dew can onto the floor, "I am the only parent you've got. It must be my fault." I said. I saw Anthony Jr.'s cheeks get red, with embarrassment. He dropped his head. Shrugged.

"I don't think it is fair that you're picking on me," Anthony Jr. said, his voice a whine. I sighed loudly and shook my head. This was why I didn't speak to him like an adult. It just made him whine like a kid

"I am not here to pick on you. I am being honest with you Anthony Jr.," I said, "You don't do anything. And I blame myself for it. Those are just facts," I said.

"I just want to do my own thing, I don't have to conform and be like everyone else," Anthony Jr. countered. I raised my eyebrows.

"Please," I said, "I never said you had to be a doctor or a lawyer. Go...be a lumberjack or an interior designer or a house painter or whatever! Don't conform to...whatever. I don't need you to be anything in particular. I just want you to...make something out of yourself. Anything." Anthony Jr. seemed, for a moment, like he was going to say something. Then he lapsed into silence for a minute. When he spoke again, he wasn't whining.

"I'm not a loser, mom," Anthony Jr. said. His voice was small, choked. The whine earlier was a defense. This was something real. I felt a sudden burst of compassion for my son. I wanted to rush across the room and wrap my arms around him. Of course he wasn't. Of course! But maybe because of what I was wearing or maybe because of how I was feeling, I didn't.

"I never said you were. You brought that up yourself," I said, letting the words hand heavy. Anthony Jr. bit his lower lip. We sat in silence for a long time. I admit, it was uncomfortable. But I think it was more uncomfortable for him. Finally, he looked up at me.

"I haven't ever been any good at anything, other than video games and stuff. Any time I try other stuff, I just mess it up," he said. His grades going back to age 12 backed that up.

"You never get better at things if you don't try," I said, "I wasn't good at..."

"I don't even care about being good at things mom. I don't want to be good at anything. I am...I don't know. I am scared, mom," Anthony Jr. said.

"Everyone messes up sometimes, that isn't anything to be scared about," I responded.

"I am afraid that if I try, I just like, won't be able to handle it. Like it is one thing to don't do anything and fail. Like, you expect that to happen. But every time I try, I just fail like I didn't try. So why bother? Trying just makes me...nervous. Nervous that I going to run away like Dad," Anthony Jr. said. And everything he said was wrong. But it also made perfect sense.

"You aren't your father," I said.

"And when you ask me to do stuff," Anthony Jr. continued, "Like I am afraid of doing them. Because I know that Dad thought it was like... your fault that he couldn't handle stuff And I don't want to blame you for making me look like an idiot when I can't do anything. And I am afraid I will do something dumb like leave you alone. And there won't be anyone to care about you," he said. My eyes grew wide. It was clear he was being honest. I had never expected that.

"Honey..." I started, rising from the bed.

"You told me I had to be the man of the house. And I just wanted to that for you mom," Anthony Jr. said, his eyes growing moist, "When I was a kid, I just didn't know what to do. And then I learned what I was supposed to do, but I couldn't do it. I am not a...like man. I can either try and then run away. Or I can be a loser, but stay here. And I don't want to leave you mom. I don't want to hurt you," Now I did rush across the room. Now I did throw my arms around my son. I could feel his heart hammering against my breast as I squeezed him.

"Dad would just be so angry when he got up to go to work, and then he would come back even angrier because he was work, and when he was home all he did was complain about work," Anthony Jr. said, "And I knew I was half him. And I knew I already didn't like homework and school work and stuff. I just...I wanted to be a grown up for you. But I was afraid to do it too. I just didn't want to disappoint you."

"Honey, I am so sorry. I said I was sorry, but I will say it again now. I never meant, when you were little, to put any kind of pressure on you. You didn't have to be a man at 12! You didn't have to take care of me! I am so sorry that you thought you did! You were already the man of the house, just by being there Anthony Jr.! I wasn't trying to get you to do anything. I just was...trying to tell you I love you," I said. And in that moment, I felt the crushing weight of expectation that I had inadvertently placed on my son. He had wanted to be an adult when he was 12. He'd failed and been crushed by that failure.

"I love you too mom, I am sorry I am a fuck up," he said. I shushed him and squeezed him tighter.

"I don't want you to be sorry about anything honey," I said, "I just want you to be happy and able to take care of yourself."

We sat in silence for a long time, with my arms around my son, his head on my shoulder while he sat in the chair. I thought about the things that Anthony Jr. Said and the way that they made sense, in a certain sort of childish way. And I, of course, felt terrible about what I'd done, even if I hadn't meant to. But I also thought about something that Joanne said. About being an adult.

"You know," I said, finally breaking the silence, "Not everyone who get a job or goes to school hates it, right? I loved school and I don't mind my job," I offered.

"I know," Anthony Jr. said. I broke my hug and moved back away from him. I grasped his shoulders with my hands and settled onto my knees on the floor in front of his chair.

"And even if school and work suck, I mean, that isn't all there is to being an adult. There are bad things about adulthood. But there are good things too," I said. Anthony Jr. was looking at me again.

"Yeah," was all he said, not sounding convinced. I swear, I was just about to launch into a defense of adulthood that centered on being able to stay up late, eat snacks between meals, and decide where you wanted to go on vacation (pretty weak sauce, I know). The words were forming in my head, but when my mouth opened, I said something else.

"Do you have an erection right now?" I asked. We looked at each other in stunned silence for a moment. I was on my knees, just a foot or two away from my son's lap. He was wearing lose-fitting basketball shorts. He was leaning forward a bit, towards me, to cover himself. But I could see the lump in the fabric. We both knew what it meant. I just couldn't believe I had brought it up. My cheeks were red.

"Jesus mom!" Anthony Jr. said, shaking his head, "Why would you even..." And suddenly, more words were pouring from me. I don't know if they came from the same place as my earlier question, or if I was just trying to talk over the awkwardness I had created. But, regardless, I was speaking.

"You know, when we first got married, before things kind of went down hill with your father, I would help him out when he came home stressed from work. He never, ever liked work. Always complained about it. Always so tense about something that was happening, even if there wasn't anything he was bringing home with him. And, before he decided that I was part of the problem, I used to be able to fix it for him." I said. This was all true. But not a thing I ever expected to share with my son.

"What are you talking about, mom?" Anthony Jr. asked, his voice croaking a bit. He was looking down at my chest again, and shifting in his seat. I almost started speaking again. Almost started explaining what I was getting at. But, in that moment, something in my brain just sort of snapped. I looked up at Anthony Jr. Saw that innocent face that I loved. Who I had caused to feel so much anguish for so many years. So much tension and frustration. I sighed. 'Fuck it,' I thought, 'he needs to really understand what it is he is missing.' I decided. This was, after all, what I had really come here for anyway. Who was a I kidding?

Without another word, my right hand reached forward. I didn't grasp at him so quickly that he'd jump out of reflex. But I didn't give him any time to think either. One second, we were just looking at each other, talking softly. The next, I had slipped my hand through the wide leg hole of his basketball shorts, felt the soft skin of his inner thigh against the back of my hand. And then I felt my fingers rub against the base of Anthony Jr.'s penis, my thumb sinking into his scrotum, feeling his balls. My palm wrapped around my son's cock. It was half-hard, I think. But felt warm and heavy against my hand. My fingers undulated gently, testing the denseness of his flesh.

"Mom?" Anthony Jr. said sharply, "What're you doing?"

"Being the man of the house has a lot of responsibilities," I said, my eyes flickering up and looking at his, "And you have thought a lot about those. But it comes with privileges too. I am going to show you what the man of the house gets. This time for free. Next time you earn it."

"Mom..." Anthony said.

"Do you want to be the man of the house right now, Anthony Jr.?" I asked. For a moment, he froze. He looked down at the lump in his pants where my hand was wrapped around his penis. He looked back up at me. Nodded.

My left hand reached up and found the other leg of Anthony Jr.'s basketball shorts. I started to tug on them. I felt them roll on Anthony Jr.'s hips. I looked up at him. His mouth and eyes were wide. He wasn't breathing. But he pushed himself up, just slightly, using the arms of the chair. I yanked again. The shorts and underwear slipped off his body. My right hand was still grasped around my son's cock and the his clothes rolled up my arm. I switched hands quickly, moving my left hand around the base of Anthony Jr.'s penis. I released him with my right hand, allowing me to toss his shorts onto the floor. Now my son wasn't wearing anything but a Captain America t-shirt. And his dick was in my hands. I looked down at it.

It had been years since I had seen my son's penis. Not since I had bathed him. I was a bit surprised. I don't know, given my son's small size and childish nature, I had sort of expected him to be especially small. And he wasn't. He wasn't huge or anything by any stretch of the imagination. He was average, though that looked sort of big on his small frame. He had an attractive package, smooth skin, proportional. I like that he had those tight balls, not the ones that hung halfway down to his knees. It was only marred by the wild patch of totally unkempt hair. Still, that made his smell heavy, which I liked.

"Did I do this to you?" I playfully. I moved my right hand back to his cock and tilted it left and right. It was incredibly hard now, like warm, smooth stone in my hands. Anthony Jr. looked at his cock, wide-eyed, and nodded. I felt a little thrill run through me. I came to the realization that what Dylan had said earlier had pushed me here just as much as what Joanne had said. It had been, god, five years since I had sex. Ten since I had it regularly. I came here to turn my son into a man. But I wanted to feel like a woman too.

"Tell me about it," I said, and I slowly stroked my hand up my son's shaft, letting my fingers tickle along it.

"What?" Anthony Jr. asked, dazed.

"Tell me about how I made your dick hard," I said. I moved my palm up to the tip of my son's penis. I sort of swirled my palm around it gently, felt Anthony Jr.'s precum wet my skin.

"I..." Anthony Jr. started. Then he grew quiet, watching my hand swirl while his face grew redder. I moved my hand down his shaft, finding my son's balls and squeezing them slightly. It was strange, I'd never been this...forward with any man before. But I knew in a way that I'd never known with another man that Anthony Jr. was putty in my hands. I could afford to be bold, I knew I had authority.

"Son, I have your balls in my hand. You aren't going to say anything that embarrass me," I said, squeezing him gently, feeling the strange, delicate texture of his testicles in my palm.

"Fuck mom, you are so fucking hot! All my friends have always said so. Your like...tits and..." Anthony Jr. couldn't keep his thoughts straight. I smiled indulgently and started to stroke my hand up an down his cock again. It felt good hear him say it. I felt my nipples ache and wondered if there was wetness between my thighs.

"Do you think of me when you masturbate?" I asked, squeezing harder around his shaft, "just be honest."

"Yes mommy," Anthony Jr. said, and for the first time in a decade, that little nickname didn't bother me. It was...kind of hot. I reached forward and grabbed one of Anthony Jr.'s hands. I pulled it forward and put it around his cock. He grasped himself. I held his wrist, pulling it up and down and making him stroke himself. I thought about him doing that, alone in in his room, thinking of me. I bit my lip.

"Boys think of hot chicks and jack off," I said and Anthony Jr. nodded, "A man of the house doesn't need fantasies. He gets what he wants." I said. And then, again without thinking, I found myself rising up high on my knees, holding Anthony Jr.'s wrist still. With my other hand, I reached up and slipped some loose hair behind my ear. I craned my neck and leaned down.

Anthony Jr.'s smell was thick, almost unpleasant, as my head moved rapidly into his lap. I kept my eyes open, watching the wet tip of his penis approaching me. My mouth opened very wide and I kept moving quickly, fluidly. I felt it first, the smooth warmth of my son's glans against my tongue. My mouth closed around the tip of Anthony Jr.'s cock as my tongue started to swirl around the opening of his urethra. He tasted salty and his scent filled my nose. My lips were wet and I slid down easily over Anthony Jr.'s shaft.

"Oh god, mom! I can't believe you're sucking my dick!" Anthony Junior said. I couldn't believe it either. Once again, I acted first and absorbed the action later. No decisions were made. Anthony Jr.'s hand slipped off of his shaft and after a moment, I felt both of his hands on my head, sinking into my hair. He didn't press on my head, just, held me.

Slowly, I took Anthony Jr.'s cock into my mouth. I felt the rigid warmth of him pressing against my tongue and I swirled around him as best I could. I soon felt my son's penis pressing into the back of my throat. I gagged slightly, controlled myself, and slipped him deeper. Soon, I felt my chin settling against Anthony Jr.'s scrotum and my nose pressed into his dense thatch of pubic hair. I breathed him in, liking the heavy smell of him the more I sensed it. I moved my head side to side a couple of times, letting Anthony's cock move in my throat.

"Mom, is this really happening?" he asked. I smiled around my son's penis and nodded. Slowly, I started to pull my head back. I kept my lips wrapped tightly around my son's penis, squeezing his urethra as I moved. I looked up at my son as I did so. Saw his eyes staring at me, his body frozen. Eventually, just the very tip of Anthony Jr.'s penis remained in my mouth. I swirled my tongue around it once, groaning at the flavor, and then I shoved the tip into my cheek.