Mom's Accident

***

In the edit, I have taken aboard many of the comments below. It might be good to know for readers that the sex in this story is not explicitly consensual, as the female character suffers a brain injury that alters her behaviour. Still, there is no force or violence either.

***

I sat in the back of our car, my head resting in my hands, looking through the window at the heavy blanket of clouds that were hovering over the meadows and the smokestacks in the background. The soft monotone sound of the engine made me sleepy.

We were already driving for hours. This morning we had left the camping side in a hurry. Thick drops of rain had bombarded the waterproof material of my father's poncho as he stooped to get the last pegs out of the cold ground.

"Two more hours, guys." Dad sounded tired. The sound of the tires over the wet asphalt mixed with the rock 'n roll that was barely audible through the static on the radio. I looked over Dad's shoulder to take a look through the front window. I saw that we were approaching a big truck, and dad slowed the car down to keep distance. The truck's tail lights reflected on the wet asphalt.

From here in the back, I saw mom's profile in the seat next to dad. She was playing with her ginger hair, distracted. I wondered what she was thinking about. She was staring at the grey landscape, humming along to the tune on the radio.

I had the feeling that this holiday had not been great for her. It felt like she had simply wanted to be back home to continue on working on the websites of her many clients, and I felt stupid for thinking that another vacation with my parents would have been a good idea. Last time I went along with them was when I was eight teen, and it had been horrible then. It had been quite horrible now.

The truck went slower. It seemed to move from the right side of its lane to the left, as if it was eager to overtake the car driving in front of it. Its tires drew zigzags in the film of rain that had formed on the road. Dad sighed annoyed and looked in his mirrors to see if he could pass the truck.

The camping where we had stayed had been boring, and its most exciting feature had been the small, worn-down supermarket. We had mostly hung around our tent. Dad had been too tired from his job to take any initiative to make plans. He had just been solving crosswords and reading that Bill Gates biography that had been reading for more than a year already.

Mom had done her usual sport routines with a decisiveness that was almost aggressive, and we did not see her for half days when she was running and hiking in the woods. I had just stared at my phone most of the time, waiting for it to be over.

Dad overtook the truck. "I was thinking we could just order some food tonight. It will be too late to do groceries when we get home."

"Fine with me." mom said, and placed her hand on the car seat head rest, tapping it nervously to the beat of the song. "I will have to reply to some e-mails anyhow. It would be nice to get to that this evening."

As always, I knew she felt bad about working so much. Dad did not like it at lot when she worked in the evenings. Mom designed websites and she had never declined a request by a new client, which meant that she was working most weekends to meet all her deadlines. She placed her hand on Dad's shoulder and gently kneaded it, with an obvious mix of affection and guilt for hardly being there for him.

Dad looked her way with that weary smile of his. "Couldn't you do that tomorr---"

The truck suddenly came to the left before dad had fully overtaken it. There was nowhere we could go.

"O my god!" mom yelled. I felt the impact as it started to push our car off the road.

Dad was frantically turning the wheel. The sound of metal crushing. I had the feeling of being launched and felt the seat belt cut into my flesh.

Then all went dark.

***

"Thanks for helping out." Dad and I were doing the dishes together in the kitchen. A jazz record was playing in the living room. The windows were pitch black already. It was winter.

"Don't worry, dad." I answered, and then listened as the kitchen filled itself with silence. Dad's hand sloshed in the warm water.

"How has it been with her?" I asked after a while. "It's been three months to the day, today."

"On and off." he sighed, and he added with a whisper: "I have been so scared, Jacob. Especially in the beginning. It was like she was not herself at all."

I looked into the pitch black of the window. In the reflection of the lights inside, I could see mom sitting on the couch. She was sleeping.

"Like, in what ways?" I asked.

"She has these episodes where she's completely absent. She doesn't talk and just stares into nothing. You remember how she was right after the coma. It's like that. But it lasts longer. Hours. Days."

Dad stared at his hands in the dirty water.

"Still, she's becoming herself again. Slowly. But that makes it scarier when she falls silent. I dislike these strange mood swings she has now. It's uncanny. She can be her controlled self one moment, and then you will walk in and out of the room, and she is raving feverishly about everything and nothing for half an hour."

"I'm sure it'll be fine, dad." I said, simply to say anything at all. "That's what the doctors say, yeah?"

"Yeah, you're right. I should have some faith that all will be well."

Dad and I had survived the accident without any trauma at all. It had been a small miracle, the doctor had said. Still, we had sat in dismay at mom's bedside in the hospital. She had hit her head hard, and she had sunk in a coma that had lasted for almost a day. We had been so glad when she had woken up.

Luckily, mom had already gone a long way in recovering since then. The doctor thought a couple more weeks, and the dizzy spells and absences would go away. Then it would be responsible for her to recover alone in the house. Until then someone would have to look over her, just to be sure.

Dad had taken paid leave as much as his employer had been willing to give him. Now the time had come for him to go back to work, and as I could follow most of my lectures online, I had offered to stay around the house for a couple of weeks to make sure mom was fine.

"What are you two talking about there?" I suddenly heard mom ask from the couch.

"Nothing, mom!" I said, dried the last glasses, and spent the rest of the evening sitting next to her on the couch, holding her hand. She was dizzy this evening, but it was still a pleasure to see her without the bandages and without the plaster around her broken arms, eyes closed, listening to the music.

I was glad that mom was taking care of herself again. She wore her make-up, and her red hair looked voluminous as it cascaded over her shoulders. No longer did she walk around in yoga pants, but she wore a beautiful and plain white dress that would surely turn some heads. A sign that she was becoming herself once more.

"Good to be here, mom."

"Good to have you."

***

Dad had given me clear instructions how to take care of mom. Still it was weird to deal with her her during one of her episodes. It was on the second day during my stay at my parents' place that I saw her in such a state.

I had just began wondering whether I was not completely useless here. Mom had been herself most of the time. We had talked as we were used to before mom had become so busy in her job. We had taken a stroll to the grocery store down the road, and we were already thinking about making dinner. Then, Mom had suddenly become completely absent.

In the hall way, on her way to the toilet, she just stopped and simply stood around. I noticed immediately that something was wrong. I called her name. She did not respond. Reminiscent of what dad had told me, I grabbed her shoulders firmly, as to avoid her falling over, and I tried to maneuver her to the couch. This was hard, as mom did not co-operated at all. It took her fifteen minutes to come to herself.

Even stranger were her manic episodes, although these were less frequent. Still, they were harder to deal with. On the fourth day, when mom and I just came home from a small walk through the woods nearby, mom suddenly started to rummage through the drawers in the kitchen. I thought she was looking for tea or something, but she pulled out a bag of candy and started devouring it in a rapid pace.

I tried to take it from her hands, but she would not let me, and decisively but gently pushed me back. After she was done, I watched in horror as she continued plundering the fridge. The thing was, even though mom seemed to lost all her inhibitions, her movement remained focused, purposeful, which made everything more confusion. It was like she was present, even though she was not herself.

***

After these spells, mom would sit down on the couch and start crying. "I do not know why I do these things." she said to me once as she laid her head on my shoulder, and I caressed her arms through her shirt. "I watch myself doing them, and I feel how badly I want to do them, but I am ashamed and I want to stop. But there is no stopping. And then I feel such guilt and shame for letting go. It is like my brain is messing with me, Jacob. I feel so bad for you having to see me in this way."

"It's okay, mom. It really is."

Part of me was glad there was at least some reason for me to be there for her, even if I did not yet know how I could help her.

***

The dizziness soon went away, to all our delight. But the manic episodes of uninhibited behaviour continued. In the second week, I found the symptoms had become harder and harder to deal with.

One day, I was in the bathroom, having just taking a shower. While I was shaving, mom came in. I noticed that she was having a spell. She did not seem to notice me. Instead, she turned on the shower and began undressing. I whispered her name, embarrassed that she was so oblivious of my presence. It did not do anything to sotp her.

I watched as she pulled her dress over her head, exposing a black and purple bra and a thong in an embroidered pattern that stretched over her wide hips. I averted my eyes, pretending not to see her. She unclasped her bra and in a smooth movement pulled down her panties. I finished shaving quickly, and then sneaked out the door. At dinner, I somehow found it hard to warn dad that this had happened, even though I knew I should have said something I could not find the right tone or words.

Another day, after mom had been free of spells for some days, found the courage to go out running for a bit. When I came home, I found mom stretched on the couch under a blanket. I was chatting to her for a moment before I noticed that she was not replying. She had her eyes closed, and first I had thought she was sleeping.

But then I saw that under the blanket, just above her legs, her hand was moving up and down. Mom moaned softly. I felt heavy and shocked. I said her name. I called her name. I shouted her name. When there was no response except mom's moaning, I went for my room and stared at my desk, not knowing what to do or to say about this to dad.

***

"Dad," I managed to say at the end of the second week. "I think mom needs more professional help."

"Why, Jacob?" Dad looked up at me. He was squatted, repairing a flat tire of his mountain bike. His hands were running across the rubber to find whatever had caused it to flatten. "I think things are going fine. You are such a great help, you shouldn't doubt yourself."

"I am not doubting myself. It is just that... she still acts weird."

Dad mistook my intention. He stood up, cleaned his hands, and placed them on my shoulders. "Jacob, I know it is hard seeing your mother like this. I feel the same way. But don't doubt yourself, boy. She is really glad you are here."

He continued repairing the tire without waiting for an answer, while I was on the verge of telling him what I had seen mom doing on the couch. I couldn't.

***

The third week, dad went away for the weekend. After all these months of caring for mom, he allowed himself some respite. He had booked a weekend with some of his friends to drink beer in a cabin in the woods. For her part, Mom was glad he could go. She said she felt like a burden, no matter how many times dad had assured her that this was stupid thought. And, after all, I would be there to look after her.

She did not know how troubled I felt. That week, I had caught her masturbating on the couch again. This time she had not even covered herself with a blanket, and I had seen how her hand had slipped inside of her jeans before I had gone up to my room again.

Dad and mom had insisted that I would sleep next to her while he was away. Dad was afraid the dizziness would come back. He had heard stories of patients choking in their own spittle if they became unconscious while lying down. I had protested up to the point where it had become strange and made me sound dubious. Then I had given in. As far as I knew, mom only had these sexual spells when she was awake.

At night I felt mom's body radiate warmth. She was close to me. I heard her breathing softly. All seemed normal.

But I woke up by mom sitting up and pulling the blankets off of her. In the pale light of the street lantern through the curtains, I could make out that mom was taking her sleeping shirt off. Her hefty breasts were now exposed, and I could tell that her nipples were standing up before she pulled the blanket up again and laid down.

"Mom...?" I asked, hesitantly. No reply.

I lay there with my heart seemingly punching right through my chest as I felt how the mattress reflected the movements of her arm as she started to pleasure herself. Gentle moans right next to my ear.

"Mom?" I said again.

I heard the wetness of her finger running over her intimate parts.

"Okay, I am off." I whispered, and sneaked out of the blankets to my own room. Only after an hour did I dare return, not wanting to be away from her lest dad's dramatic fears would come true. Mom was fast asleep.

***

I had not slept well for weeks. Worries about mom had kept me up. And it was taking its toll. I felt feeble. I felt less clear in my head. I had trouble keeping everything on track. The weekend alone with mom would have gone different if I had felt better, I am sure.

The sound her fingers had made had stuck with me. To be so close to mom doing that thing that I would have never thought she did, it had messed with my brain. Until then, I had thought of mom as a completely asexual being, a sort of warm force that would always be there for me if I was in real trouble. Now, I had trouble knowing who my mom was and what kind of needs drove her.

I will blame it on my tiredness. But the next day, something happened. I had left my glasses in the bath room. Since I had to make a short call with my professor, who would supervise the master thesis I was writing, I simply had to wear my glasses to be able to see my computer's screen clear at all. Yet, when I put my hand on the door knob to fetch my glasses, I heard the shower running. I hesitated. Then pulled it down.

"Sorry, mom, I won't look." I said, while I walked into the steamy bath room. I saw mom's white skin through our shower's glass pane. She was running one hand over her voluminous body, while the other was pressed between her legs. She did not reply to me.

I quickly snatched my glasses from the shelf where I had left them, but before I left the bath room again, I could not resist looking over my shoulder. Mom still gave no sign that she had seen me. Her hand was working her pussy really fast, making a sloshing sound that was audible even over the sound of the drops falling on the floor. My eyes took it all in, even though my brain felt repulsed at myself for doing so.

Her face... Her mouth was agape, her eyes in the seeming agony of impending orgasm, somewhere between insane suffering and pleasure. Her wet hair stuck to her head. Her nostril flared. Soft moans left her open mouth rhythmically, right through the cushions of her red lips. I shivered before I closed the door behind me.

***

The entire day, mom seemed to be out of it. I felt myself sweating, trembling at what I had seen. To my horror, I kept returning to thoughts about mom's figure. I felt a wet, sticky fluid stick to my leg. I did not know what to do with myself. I was half about to call dad to come home and stop this, but it was harder than ever to know what to say to him.

Mom's eyes had a cloudy look all day, and she seemed to be overly sensual. When she sat on the carpet to read a book, her hands kept stroking its soft texture as if they could not get enough of it. When we cooked lunch, she brought the herbs to her nose and inhaled deeply as if they held unknown secrets to her. When she caressed my hear in a motherly way, she seemed obsessed with how it tingled her hands. Throughout all of this, whenever I tried speaking to her, she would simply ignore me.

She kept shocking me now. When she laid down to read some messages on her phone, she put a pillow between her legs. To my alarm, I saw how she gently started humping it. As if I was not right there sitting on the couch next to her. She only put the pillow away to open her zipper. I saw her pink girlish underwear, she pulled at the band to let her hand in. Her feet were touching my legs as she started touching herself again. Her phone slipped on the floor, without her even noticing.

I could not force myself to stand up. I was fascinated by how mom's body writhed, how her large breasts almost rolled out of her shirt. "Mom..." I half whispered, half moaned. "Mom, please stop." She continued, her hands making fast and tiny circles over her clit. Her eyes bulging. Her mouth opening and closing. Like a fish.

***

That night, I felt as if I had swallowed a boulder. With heavy arms and legs, with my heart pounding, I went to mom's bed room before her. In the half light, I pulled off my pants, my shirt, my socks, and I folded them in a package that I put on the floor.

Then I pulled down my shorts. I was completely naked. In the mirror I saw the shape of my trimmed body in the same pale light as I had seen mom's breasts in yesterday. I crawled on the bed on all fours, then I laid down on top of the duvet at my dad's side and stared at the ceiling. Its fabric was cold at my back. I waited.

I was not sure what would happen. I was not sure what I was doing. I promised myself that I would simply wait what mom would do.

It was only ten minutes before mom came in, but it had felt like an hour. She did not turn on the light, but I could see that she was wearing a black negligee. If she had noticed that I was naked, she did not show it. I felt the mattress sink a little under her weight as she laid down next to me.

Her complexion was incredible in this light. Mom looked so pale, almost translucent. I could still see her freckles on her cheek when I looked at her. She was lying on her back, and for a moment I thought she would simply fall asleep, ignoring me entirely.

Then she sat up. I watched as she shook her hair free, only to gather it into a pony tail again. She bent over me. The cushions of her lips softly pressed themselves flat against mine before I knew what was happening. I felt the softness of the inside of her lips before I felt her tongue enter my mouth.

"Mom?" I managed to say.

"Relax, baby." she said. Her eyes were hazy. "Just... feel."

Mom was french-kissing me again. She leaned on my chest with one arm, her negligee opening to expose her naked breasts.

I almost panicked. It was happening. I had to get away.

Then I felt mom's free hand caress my belly in nonchalant circles. I moaned, and rush of blood was sent to my private parts. It was as if I was fainting.