Me and Danny Ch. 07

Yelling. Screaming. Violence. And rage. So much rage.

I cowered in the corner of my bathroom, sitting my naked butt down on the cold, tiled floor. My knees were in my chest, my hand over my ears, my eyes squeezed shut. Silent prayers were whispered to God above, begging him/her for the ability to change wish into reality. I just needed for this entire ordeal to be a nightmare I'd soon wake from. When I opened my eyes, I needed for Chris to not be here fighting with Danny. I needed for my two boys to not be trying to kill each other.

Opening my eyes only confirmed the futility of such prayers. Either God wasn't listening, or he was laughing at the calamity of a foolish woman. Chickens had indeed come home to roost.

A shrill scream escaped my lips and pierced the air. "Chris! Leave him alone! Stop hitting him!"

But Chris couldn't hear me above the sound of his own anger and pain. How could he? How can any son get over the sight of his mother being bent over in the shower and relentlessly pounded by a man not his father? How can he unhear the sounds of her moaning his name?

And what if that man were not only young enough to be her son, but her actual nephew?

The perversity of that vision had to be astounding. It must have shocked him so badly that my sweet son turned into a swearing, sadistic monster. That had to be it, because the man who was viciously raining down punches on Danny was not my son.

Danny fought back with everything he had. He was literally fighting for his life against a bigger, stronger, more athletic opponent who was supercharged by rage. Besides the physical disadvantages against him, Danny was also naked. Cum was still leaking from his cock, which had just exploded inside of my wet pussy. I'm not certain about this, but I could imagine that would create some mental self-consciousness which could act as a further burden.

All of this resulted in Danny being grossly overmatched. Chris, who in high school was on both the football and wrestling teams, was throwing Danny around the small space of my bathroom like he was made of cotton. At the same time, he was simultaneously throwing punch after punch to Danny's face and body. He was relentless in his attacks, like he wanted to kill his worst enemy.

At some point during the altercation, he threw Danny into the large mirror over the sink. Then, reminiscent of his wrestling matches, he took Danny to the floor with a title-worthy body slam. That left Danny almost defenseless against punch attacks.

I had a blood-blotched, spider-webbed crack in the center of my mirror, an enraged son who was like a Rottweiler with a bloodlust, and a nephew/lover who was on the verge of being beaten to death.

I needed this to stop. My son couldn't go to jail for murdering his cousin. This was all my fault, and it was on me to fix this. I had to stop my son to save both of them.

The last time I laid a hand on Chris to hurt him was when he was 6. I spanked his little bottom for drawing all over the walls with a crayon set. But never had I attacked him. Yet, at that moment, I had to forget about my own nakedness and charge him like a linebacker.

So, I did. I threw myself at him; naked, jiggly titties and all. I didn't want to hurt him. I was hoping to either snap him out of his rage or use my weight to counter his attacks against Danny.

I jumped on his back and wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. But Chris was about a foot taller than me and built like his father. My little 125 lbs. were a mere featherweight to him. He wore me like a backpack, my small mass doing little more to deter him than the shirt on his back.

However, my nudity, my wet naked skin against him, caused him enough distraction to give Danny some breathing room. The punching stopped, and Chris stood up fast with me hanging on him like a sexy bookbag.

"Mom! What the fuck! You're attacking me? Your son?"

His surprise that I jumped on him paled in comparison to the horror on his face when he realized that his naked mother was draped all over him.

"Fuck, Mom! You're...naked! Get off me!" he yelled, trying to shake me off.

I leveraged his disgust and used it to my advantage. Now that I had his attention, I repeated my earlier plea. "Stop hurting Danny."

"Mom...get off me!"

"Not until you promise not to stop fighting." I yelled into his ear as he flung me about.

He caught a glimpse of us between the cracks in the broken mirror. So did I. Honestly, if this was happening to anyone else, this would either be extremely comical or hot as hell. My naked ass stuck out behind him as I held on, cheeks spreading into an upside-down heart.

He squeezed his eyes shut and yelled his surrender. "Okay! Okay! I promise! Fuck! Just...please put some clothes on!!"

I lowered myself, having to slide down his back. I was sure my poor son was going to need therapy after this ordeal.

He stepped away from me like I was made of slime, his arms curled up at his sides. When he turned to face me, his eyes instinctively fell to my tits, my tummy, and my neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair.

For a fleeting second, I saw a mixture of surprise and appreciation in his eyes. It was like he was amazed that his mom had lady parts, and that those lady parts were just as appealing as the women he'd lusted over in his short 21 years.

Yes, he checked his mother out. Realizing this, I uncomfortably hid my nakedness from my son by pressing my arm over my tits and a hand over my pussy like a fig leaf.

He quickly averted his gaze and brusquely repeated, "Can you put some goddamn clothes on, please? I can see everything."

Despite the humiliation of my son seeing me au natural after getting my pussy pounded under the steamy water of my shower, I still found the courage to sternly say, "If you don't wanna see your mother naked, then get out of my bathroom! Go wait for me downstairs."

He shot Danny another glare, but then caught another glimpse of me trying to preserve my modesty. A sigh of resignation mixed with a growl escaped him as his eyes fell. Then, without another word, he stomped out.

With him safely out the way, I was able to devote my full attention to the beaten and bruised Danny. My poor nephew was laying on the cold floor, his nudity highlighting just how defeated he was. There was blood everywhere, but I couldn't tell the extent he was bleeding because it was mixing with the water on the floor, making it look worse than it was.

"Danny! You okay, baby?" I asked as I dropped to my knees beside him.

He gave me a groan in reply and said, "My back."

I slightly lifted him by the shoulder as he winced in pain. As I leaned over to look behind him at his back, I gasped. There were deep incisions from where he was thrown into the mirror with sharp, shards of glass embedded into them. Dark, red blood was pouring from his cuts.

"Oh my god!" I panicked. After completely rolling him over onto his stomach, I tried to gently remove the glass from his skin. It didn't matter how gingerly I handled him. He yelled out in agony with every piece of glass pulled out.

Once I got all the pieces I could see, I jumped up and grabbed the dry towels from the rack, not caring that they were my good, expensive ones. I feebly pressed one of them into his back, hoping to stop the flow.

"Danny, these cuts look pretty bad. I may have to take you to the ER."

"Uuugh. Great."

"Can you move?"

Another moan came from him before he said, "Yeah. I'm good."

I helped him up. Now that he was standing, I could see his back clearly, and that it was in worse shape than I initially diagnosed. His cuts were so deep. He was going to need stitches.

I wanted to wash his wounds, but I needed to get him to the ER as quickly as possible. So, without dressing, I guided him to his room, putting pressure on his back with my ruined towels. He was able to walk on his own accord, but I needed to play bodyguard against any further attacks from a certain triggered son.

The walk to Danny's room was anti-climactic. Chris was downstairs waiting for me, presumably to pounce on me with interrogative questions. At least there were no Vietcong ambushes.

Once in the safety of his room, I asked Danny, "Can you dress on your own?"

He nodded stiffly.

"Okay. Get dressed so I can take you to the hospital. Bundle up. It's cold."

With that, I quickly scurried on my tip toes back to my own room, huddling my arms at my sides to preserve what little body heat my bare, fresh-out-the-shower skin could hold onto. My C's bounced all the way, which would've had dicks hard under different circumstances.

Putting no thought into my appearance, I threw on a comfortable bra, some granny panties, and the first shirt and pair of jeans my hands grabbed. My damp, stringy hair was twisted up into a hasty bun before marching downstairs to confront my son.

He'd had time to compose himself when I saw him. He'd been stewing in his white-hot anger for a minute, but he at least had control over it. He was still pretty pissed though, standing in the middle of the living room with his arms crossed over his chest. When his eyes met me, he scowled at me.

The first words as he pointed an accusatory finger at me were, "I...FUCKING...KNEW IT!"

"Knew what?"

"About...this." He said, waving his hand around him. "About you and Danny. Something felt...I don't know...off. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I knew SOMETHING was up between you two."

He started pacing, getting himself all worked up again. I was dumbstruck about how much like his father he looked right now. That scowl, those eyes, that flaring nose; it was almost like Martin was standing here dealing with catching me in the act of infidelity.

Thinking of Martin, and enduring his anger when he found out, sent shockwaves of terror through me. My life as I knew it was over. My marriage was over. Surely, Martin was going to kick my slutty, incestuous ass out the first chance he got.

Almost talking to himself, Chris ranted, "It was the way he was always hanging around you, helping you, doting on you. He was like some adoring little puppy dog, looking for a treat. At least now I know what those treats were!"

He shuddered at his own words, probably giving himself a mental picture of Danny sampling my "treats". It wasn't like he had to use his imagination. He had a front row seat to the "Danny and Ronnie" live sex show.

"Chris..."

Ignoring me and continuing his rant, he paced and mumbled, "And you had the nerve to lay some guilt trip on me, like I wasn't measuring up, like HE was the better son. All this time, you two were..."

"Chris..."

"What??" he snapped at me, like he was annoyed at being interrupted.

I went to hug him, but he slapped my hands away and recoiled, clearly repulsed by my touch. With a sneer, he said, "You're a disgusting whore. You don't get to touch me!"

When those words hit my ears, the pain that came with them was unfathomable. It was like my world ended. But then, something else happened. Along with that pain came anger. Immense anger.

Everything I was feeling exploded out of me. I did the one thing I promised myself I'd never do, under any circumstances. I slapped him across his face. And not just a small smack. I slapped him so hard his entire head turned.

"I JUST TOUCHED YOU, YOU ARROGANT PRICK!" I yelled at him. Then I repeatedly poked him in the chest as I said, "I'm still touching you! What're you gonna do about it? You gonna beat me up like you did Danny?!"

He looked at me with stunned shock and awe. The condescending expression was gone, now replaced by astonishment as he held his reddened cheek.

Reclaiming some of my power, I stepped closer to him with a glare of my own. Through gritted teeth, I said, "I don't care what you caught me doing, I am still your mother. You WILL NOT disrespect me! EVER! Understood?"

He gave me a nod, still looking at me with wide eyes.

Secretly, deep inside, I was crying for what my son was enduring. In a span of 10 minutes, he'd seen his mom in the throes of passion with his cousin, been attacked by her naked body, and slapped across the face.

I was a shitty mother.

Danny slowly limped into view. He was dressed in a hoodie and some sweatpants. When Chris saw him, the rage from earlier flared up in his eyes again.

"You mother fucker!" he yelled out. "You have the nerve to fuck my dad's wife? The one who's been taking care of your ungrateful ass! He took you in as a son, and this is how you repay him?!"

He looked like he was going to charge at Danny again. To prevent this, I stepped in front of my nephew to guard him.

"Move Mom!"

"No!"

"Mom..."

"STOP IT!" I screamed at him. He backed off a bit, but those dangerous fists were still balled up at his sides. "Enough is enough! I get it! You're pissed. You're angry. Today was a shock to you. I get it. But Danny didn't do this alone. It was both of us that you saw in that shower. So, if you wanna talk about this like adults, then we can do that. But if you just wanna pound your chest like King Kong and act like an animal, you can get out of my house!"

Slowly, I saw his fists uncurl. The look of fury was still on his face, but he was in control enough to not attack.

"Now..." I said, my voice much calmer than I really was. "I have to take Danny to the ER. You hurt him pretty bad." Danny looked like he wanted to protest that statement in defense of his manhood, but I cut him off. Now was not the time for macho posturing. He had serious wounds that needed attention.

Chris, however, looked at Danny with a slight smirk on his face. It was an arrogant expression that said, "Sorry, not sorry for kicking your ass."

"I'm gonna drive Danny there and get him checked in. If you want to have an adult conversation about what you saw, feel free to follow us to the ER."

"Adult conversation? You're kidding, right?" Chris asked sarcastically, a derisive snort blowing from his nose. Honestly, in his situation, I'd laugh too. He just caught his cousin banging his mom. The scene was so preposterous that it belonged in a porno or the incest section of Literotica (wink).

He shot a glance out of the big picture window in our living room. He shook his head, and in a voice that was surprisingly calm, he said, "You're never gonna make it. The snowstorm is getting bad now. It's why I came over. I tried to call you, but you didn't answer your phone. So, I got worried and drove over to make sure you were okay, and to see if I could take you to the store or something. I didn't know that you two were..."

He couldn't even say it. To utter such a thing aloud is to confirm that it's true. He had to turn away as his words fell off. I couldn't help also averting my eyes, casting them downward at the floor, shame filling me.

An onrush of guilt followed my shame. I felt horrible for my son; horrible for the situation he'd inadvertently wandered into. This had to be hard for him. And I felt even worse for what I was about to ask him.

"So...your F150 could easily make it to the hospital." I said, as if it was an offhanded statement, which it wasn't. His eyes snapped to me with a glare that could easily melt a path for us in the snow.

"Don't even...

Cutting him off (as if I hadn't caused him enough pain) I started to ask, "Do you think you could..."

He turned and walked away from me. "I know you aren't seriously asking me to drive the guy who just nutted inside my mom to the hospital."

"Christopher!"

"WHAT???" He yelled, turning back around to face me. "Don't you get how royally fucked up this is, mom? Huh? This is some real, live, Jerry Springer shit!"

In a weak voice, Danny tried to interject, "I can just drive myself..."

"Shut up." Chris and I both told him at the same time before turning back to each other. To my son, I added, "Let's not forget that YOU are the one who threw him into the mirror."

"Yeah, because he was unloading a creampie into my mom!"

I hated the vulgar way he was talking. It was so disgusting and misogynistic. I didn't raise him to crassly speak this way about any woman, let alone his mom. But I wasn't in a place to really argue that point, considering. Besides, time was wasting.

"Fine..." I said pointedly. "Then Me and Danny will have to brave the elements in my car. I'm sure we'll make it okay."

I started guiding Danny towards the front door. Instinctively, I put my hand on his back to guide him. He winced in pain at my touch. It was then that I noticed the blood was starting to seep through his rather thick hoodie.

Chris noticed this too. I could see the acknowledgement on his face. It softened a little from the hard-nosed, angry mask that he'd been wearing since he discovered me and Danny in the shower. An internal argument was ping-ponging back and forth, and the results were playing out on his face like a movie.

Finally, he growled as he gave in. With annoyance in his voice, he yelled out, "Fuck! Wait."

"Yes?"

He shot me an evil glare before taking his truck keys from his pocket and stomping past us to grab his coat. He also gingerly helped Danny put his coat on.

I had to marvel at my son. Even with his earth-shattering anger, he wasn't going to throw his "brother" or his mother to the wolves. He still loved both of us, despite our selfish actions causing his world to crumble around him.

I looked at Chris with gratitude in my eyes, but he avoided my stare. He couldn't even look at me. Not now.

The moment we opened the front door, I was immediately hit with the blistering, wintery winds. It was even worse out now than it was earlier when Danny and I went to the store. The short walk to the truck was a trek worthy of the nature channel. Our feet sank into the snow almost up to our knees, and my car was once again buried underneath a heap of white.

There was no way Me and Danny would've made it in either of our cars. My son was truly a godsend, even if he didn't want to be.

The morose drive to the hospital was agonizingly slow. And quiet. And awkward. Not even the radio was turned on to give us respite against the silence. The only sounds that broke through was the crunching of the snow beneath Chris' huge tires.

At the ER, we got Danny checked in. Then, we waited. And waited. Apparently, the "minor" cuts on Danny's back didn't warrant as much of a response as the guy who was having chest pains, or the little girl who was having trouble breathing and was on the verge of passing out.

I mean, I get it. They were more serious cases. But...c'mon.

We waited for over an hour before Danny got a bed. And that's when the real fun happened. The nurses had questions. Lots of questions. On top of the gashes on his back, parts of his face were starting to swell and bruise. Also, his stomach was tender from repeated hits to the abdomen.

It was obvious to anyone with a working set of eyes that Danny had been beat up. No one bought his "I fell through a glass door" story, especially the nurses who'd caught a glimpse of Chris's knuckles. Still, Danny was adamant about his "accident", and the staff seemed to let it go.

While this filled me with relief, it also disturbed me a bit. Had Danny been a woman, the cops would've been called to the scene with many more uncomfortable questions no matter how much she wanted to stick to her story. But sense he was a male, people just dismissed it.

I hate double standards, even though they sometimes benefit me.

While Danny was being looked at, Chris and I sat in the waiting area drinking coffee that came from a vending machine. At first, neither of us talked. In all fairness, there was no good way to start the conversation that needed to be had. It wasn't until he finally asked, "Why, Mom?" that the floodgates were opened.