Mom's Ripple Effect (Extended)

"You don't have to be nervous, Heather. I'm sure Paul will do fine. It's not like this heat has the best rowers in it. So, if he gives it his all, he'll probably get out of this round."

"Thank you," Heather smiled at Mary, grittily. She then checked her wrist again, starting to feel the pre-race jitters in her legs. Forty minutes until the race. Twenty until he'd row to the starting platform.

Then her wrist buzzed, and she looked down and pulled her phone from her pocket. Even a spam text would be a welcomed distraction right now.

But it was her husband:

Rich:

Have you seen Paul? He should be here getting loose already.

"He is there!" Heather talked back at her phone, lifting her head and suddenly sensing in her bones that something bad had happened to her baby.

"Paul? Paul? Paul!" She called out into the crowd, getting only confused looks from parents. Then she rang his phone three times, all of them going to voicemail.

"Have you seen Paul? Have you seen Paul?" she frantically asked his teammates, stopping each one entering and leaving the team canopy. Finally, it was Mary's son Dylan who nodded, "Yeah, he says he's not rowing."

"What?" Heather shook. "What?!"

"Yeah..." Dylan munched on an apple, "I asked him and he said he can't go out. Like, he's just not feelin' it, I guess."

"Aww, that's a shame. I'm so sorry, Heather. Sometimes the pressure can be really tough on kids. Though I suppose it's better he finds out now rather than at Nationals in front of all the coaches and--"

Mary stopped, turning away as Heather withdrew her death glare. Fists balled, she turned to Mary's bratty son. "Tell me where he is."

"Uh, last I saw, he was chillin' in the woods — kinda on the other side of the path. He told me to leave him alone and I did. So... Yeah, that's pretty much it."

In a flash, she was bounding down the paved path along the river, with the tents, crowds, and trailers a passing blur. Her eyes were on the woods to the right, scanning for Paul.

It was unlike him to disappear. He was reliable, perhaps her favorite quality of his.

"There!" She turned onto a dirt trail leading up a small, rolling hill. She scrambled around trees and boulders toward where she had seen the blue blob.

Eventually, she stepped down onto a small outcrop of gray rock on the side of the hill, then leaned over panting, hands on her knees. "Paul...."

"Wha..." Her soft voice startled him as his head jerked out from his knees. His cheeks were blotchy and his eyes tired. "Oh. Hi."

"What's going on? You have to be in the water soon."

"I'm not rowing."

"Why not?!"

"Because!" he snapped, looking off into the trees.

"Okay," Heather soothed, squatting to his level. "Honey, I'm not here to force you to do anything. But can we talk about why you're upset?"

"I'm not upset!"

"Okay. Yeah, I believe you." She scratched her nose. "Well, can you at least tell me why you won't row then? Because you've been in bigger races than this before and you've never--"

"I'm not scared!" He shot back, throwing his arms in the air. "I just... I just... I wanna race. I just... I can't."

At a loss, the mother watched her son drop his head in defeat, then peeked at her wrist. "What's wrong then? You know I'd never force you to row."

"I just wanna be alone right now. Okay?"

"Paul," Heather sighed, "I know that's what you think you want, but this isn't healthy for you. You don't have to race, but at least get up."

"No!" He shouted, looking at her, his eyes watery and neck strained. He wrapped his arms tighter around his legs.

"Oh, shit. Did you get hurt? If you pulled a muscle, we can get the team trainer and he can--"

"I didn't pull a muscle. I just wanna be alone!" he growled.

Closing her hooded eyes, Heather saw the vision that haunted her nightmares — the starting gun goes off, the boats go down the river, and Paul's lane is empty. But now she felt the dread of it becoming reality.

What would she say to her husband? To the other moms? And most of all, to Paul, once it hit him that he had thrown away his dreams?

Tapping her fingernails on the cold stone, Heather explained, "Paul, I said I wouldn't pressure you. But you have to understand that this isn't just about you. Your coaches have spent years training you for this. The school paid a lot to enter you in this regatta. Your friends, your teammates, are counting on you to row for the team.

"And think about dad and me. We've sacrificed so much to give you this chance. He's coached you for all these years, and I've used all my weekends the last four years to be at races and volunteer for the team.

"Yes, we did all that because we wanted to and because we believe you'll go to Princeton or some other amazing school and have a life we couldn't. But you can't just throw it all away and not even say why. How is that supposed to make us feel, Paul?"

He breathed fast and hard, thrashing in a ball. When his glassy, brown eyes looked at her, she felt his agony and pain.

"I'm so sorry, mom. I know what you've done and all that. I really wanna be out there. I just..."

"What? But what?" She waited, hearing nothing but leaves in the breeze and the faint tick of the clock in her head. "But what, Paul? C'mon, you need to tell me now. I won't be mad. I'll only be mad if you don't tell me. What?"

He looked away, and the sharp apple in his throat lurched. "I'm having a problem... down there."

Tilting her chin, it hit her, and Heather nearly broke out laughing. "Oh, uh, hmm-mm. Uh, honey, boys have problems down there all the time," she said. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about — just another health problem. Normal. Nothing to throw away your future over. So, uh, what exactly is the...?"

"It... It won't...." He lifted his arm then lowered it.

"Ah, gotcha," she nodded, popping her lavender lips. It was what she had figured. "Um. Okay. Well. It's not that big of a deal, right? And you've already tried, uh...?"

"Obviously."

"Yeah, right. Okay. Um, has this type of thing happened before? What did you do then?"

Paul nodded into the trees, only angling his voice in her direction. "But there's nothing I can do about it now."

Biting down, Heather looked at their surroundings and scratched the rock. "Well, you have a phone. And nobody can see you here — that closely, at least. So...."

"I already tried that," he snapped. "Why do you think I'm up here?"

"Okay. Alright," she softly assured in her high voice. Her son was shaking and agitated like a feral animal. "So, how long exactly has it been, uh, up?"

"Ugh! I don't know! Two hours maybe?"

"Holy shit!" Heather sprung to her feet, holding her head. "Christ, Paul! That's not normal at all! Does it hurt?"

When he covered his blotchy face in return, she paced a circle on the granite slab, muttering to herself. "Hoo! I get why you... Wow! Shit!"

It dawned on her that he wasn't making the race.

"Are you sure you can't, like, tuck it in for a little bit? Just till the end of your heat?"

"No, mom, it hurts," he winced. "It's not like I could hide it in this stupid uniform anyway. Everyone would see it."

He was right, of course. And an erection lasting this long with painful groans was a sign of a serious issue.

"Do you think things might've been cut off, so to speak? Like, I know that sometimes the wiring can get twisted below and cause trouble. Is that...?"

"I don't know. Maybe?" He shrugged in his blue singlet.

Pinching the bridge of her straight, thin nose, the mother asked, "Has anything come out? Because if nothing has, this might be an emergency."

Parting his knees, her son glanced down, and then his brown head shook.

"Alright," she clapped, sighing. "Screw the race. We're going to urgent care. I'll call your dad and see if he can beg the race organizers to put you in the last heat."

"Okay," Paul meekly agreed, scratching his short hair, unsure.

"Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. Rich? Rich?! Fuck!" In a rarity, she cursed in front of her son, leaving a frantic voicemail before hanging up and turning back to him. "Alright, honey, I know you're embarrassed, but you gotta get up. We gotta go right now."

Despite nodding, he didn't stand, his butt still on the weathered granite.

"Listen, Paul, I get it! I do. You don't want anyone to see. But guess what? Half the people here have a penis and theirs do the same thing. They get the same problems. So let's go to the hospital before you lose yours."

He huffed and rose to his sneakers, his hands stacked over his lap. Although, hands could only cover so much, as the imprint of his tip poked above his thumb.

Heather felt a cold hand squeeze her heart and suck the air from her lungs. She was back in the plastic chair in the guest room.

The emergency before her allowed her to easily shake free and collect herself. With a calming breath, she opened her hooded eyes and inspected her son's royal-blue suit, just above the mushroom-shaped carving. Bone dry.

What the hell? Two hours of porn and... Nothing? Shit, he's in bad shape, Heather. God, why now? Because of fucking course this would happen now.

Hunching over, her son pleaded, "Mom, I don't wanna walk like this."

"Where's your jacket?"

"At the trailer," he wheezed. "I took it off before my run. That's when it — ya know — happened. I was running and--"

"Here." She stopped him and began pulling the phone, keys, clutch, and water bottle from the deep pockets of her shearling sweater and setting them down on the leafy rock.

"You can tie this around your waist," she said, fighting her way out of the beefy sweater. The brisk air immediately rushed to her warm skin, sending a shiver down her spine. "Hoo!"

When it cleared her head, she looked up at her son and saw his eyes, wide, deep, and brown on his rectangular face. A soft groan left his throat and slipped out into the breeze. His hips twitched.

Heather lowered her gaze to the small, dark circle now staining his bright uniform. She turned to stone. Her sweater must've caught her bra and made her boobs move — barely.

"Oh, look! I think there's a hawk or something flying back there," she said, squinting into the woods.

She had been drably dressing around her son for months, and he no longer checked her out. So how, in the blandest of gray shirts that covered her body wrists to neck, could she have caused that reaction? It couldn't have been her.

Granted, the top was tighter, and if her boobs had moved, he would've seen it. But it couldn't have been enough to make him leak. It was likely the release in pressure from standing up after sitting in a ball for so long. Right?

As her frightened son covered his lap, Heather winced, "Hoo! It's chilly out."

Her eyes were shut as she bounced on her toes, but the sound of an escaped grunt filled her heart and windpipe with dread. Painfully, she peeked again, now seeing a second blot grow on his uniform.

"Mom, I didn't... It's not..." Her son's beige skin was ghostly white. He trembled in his running shoes.

"Oh, hey! I think some finally came out," she pointed, obviously.

Paul hunched over and pleaded, "Mom, I'm so sorry! It wasn't on purpose, I swear. I was just... I wasn't trying to. It just... I was looking at your... And...."

Heather sighed, losing the facade. "Well, it's not a health emergency, is it?"

"I--"

"Don't! You don't need to say anything. I'm not mad, okay? So let's just forget it."

"I--"

"Let's just forget it, Paul," she snapped, then breathed. "There's a bathroom down there, okay? Go take care of it and get to your boat. You can still make it to the water on time."

He nodded and looked around, seeming mostly relieved to not be in trouble.

"Paul, you'll make it to your boat on time, right?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so! It might work now. I'll go try and see if--"

"No, Paul. There is no 'think' or 'try'. You have to get it done and make it to your boat, okay? You're not throwing away years of work over something this dumb. I need you to tell me I'll see you out there."

Paul bit down and wavered in front of the green oaks. "I wanna race, believe me. I obviously do. But I tried for a frickin hour already and nothing happened! I didn't even get close."

"Well, maybe the dam broke, so to speak?"

"Yeah. Maybe," Paul mumbled, ruffling his short crew cut.

The mother pinched the bridge of her nose and peeked at her wrist. Eight minutes. Paul had eight minutes to be in the water. The bathroom facility was maybe a three-minute jog. Then he had to get back to the boat trailer, get his scull, and carry it to the dock.

"Turn away and rub it a couple of times," she suggested. "See if it feels any different now."

Paul did as asked, throwing his arms up. "Nope! Screw it, it's not gonna happen. My head's not in the right place."

"It was literally two seconds ago!" Heather harshly whispered.

"Well, I wasn't under pressure then! I wasn't thinking about it. I just looked and it happened," he quivered.

Crossing her arms, Heather felt the cool breeze blow through her cotton top, and she jostled again. A muffled grunt sounded over the rustling leaves.

Looking out into the distance, she pushed the dimple in her chin, wondering what her life had become. She exhaled and returned to Paul, who blinked away from her chest.

"I... I didn't mean--"

A raised hand silenced him as Heather closed her eyes. "If you need to look, then look. If you'll make the race, then it is what it is."

There was nothing but wind.

"What do you...?"

"It means what you think it means, Paul. Just get it done and over with."

"Like... Now? Here?"

She nodded.

"Just take it out in front of you?"

"Nooo!" She awakened, scanning their surroundings. "Leave it in your uniform. Just rub the front. It'll hurt less that way anyway."

Picking up her clutch, she swept off the leaves and dirt. "Here. Shove these inside so you don't ruin it."

Her son took the tissues, and as she watched him diligently stuff them inside, creating a rumpled bulge in his singlet, she could only shake her head.

As absurd as this was, there was a sense of karmic justice to it. For months she had been waiting for the universe to punish her for shaming herself in that guest room. And this was nothing less than a fitting penance.

After another scan of their isolated hill, Heather stared into the woods and moved.

Gently springing in her chestnut UGGs, she pretended to be dancing alone. However, the scrape of polyester, the masculine breaths, and the feeling of her son's eyes on her bobbing breasts made that near impossible.

"Are you getting close?" she asked, hopefully, hearing his panting grow louder.

"Uh, I might be." His song-like voice was strangled and sheepish. "I'm not sure."

"That's not an answer. Is it coming out faster, or no? You don't have forever."

"I know, I know," he said. "Uh, okay... More is coming out. Not really faster, but it keeps coming out."

His breath was dry and determined, which was expected. If Paul was doing something, he was trying his best.

With another sigh, Heather hooked her fingers into the side belt loops of her jeans, starting to adjust them. The tugging and pushing made her hips and shoulders wiggle.

The scrape of polyester grew louder and faster. She peeked for an instant, seeing the blur of his knuckles and intense demeanor.

While staring at her jostling boobs and face, her son had to be rethinking everything about her. Quiet, proud, and reserved, this was the last thing she could've ever imagined herself doing.

As the moans deepened and became steadied, she continued starting her green eyes everywhere else but at him. Plainly, she asked, "Helpful, or no?"

"Um, helpful. Ah! I'm starting to get there."

Heather nodded, hearing his angst. The cold air started hitting her armpits and copper hairline as she added a swaying twist to her hips. Hopefully, the comments she had to endure from creeps over the years about her "round" and "cute" butt were accurate and useful here.

You're the parent, Heather, for cryin' out loud! Tell him to finish already. "How 'bout now? You close?"

"A bit closer..." Paul sang.

Muttering and debating with herself, she then began to toss and regather her hair. Her vibrant, bronzed-red waves had always been a favorite of men, and compared to what she was doing with her body, it was relatively innocent.

The effect on Paul was immediate, as he labored harder, so she continued to play with it.

Beep beep! Beep beep!

The alarm sounded at Paul's feet.

"What is that? Just turn it off," she announced.

He stepped on his phone, hoping to stop the noise. "ERR! It's my alarm to go to the water. Dammit!"

"Just turn it off and focus!"

"I am! I'm so close," he grunted, moving his swollen forearm in a flurry.

Bravely, Heather looked at the bulge on his abdomen and the cylinder below. "How close are you?"

"Really close, I swear! Ah! I'm almost at that point."

"Then keep going," Heather pleaded, bouncing and dancing. "You can row faster to the starting line."

He nodded, throwing his might into his knuckles again before stopping and growling at himself in agony. "I can't! I'm thinking about how I'm gonna miss the race."

"Shit!" Heather cursed. "C'mon, Paul, look! Do you wanna look at me or think about a damn race?"

"I'm trying, mom!" His young voice wavered. "I can't help it."

"Fuck this," Heather huffed, yanking down the neckline of her gray tee. But rather than remind her son of the V-neck she wore on his birthday, her unforgiving shirt only flashed her collarbones.

Madly laughing into the trees, she wiped the sweat from her forehead, dreamed about vodka, and looked squarely at her beleaguered son. "If you came now, would you make it?"

He swallowed, shaking his head. "What do you mean by that?"

Her heart pounded against her ribs. "If I make you cum now, do you promise to get to your lane on time?"

His wide eyes profoundly moved, agreeing.

"You better make it," she warned, desperately.

The creamy flesh of her thin waist appeared. Then her belly button. Followed by her flat stomach and sides. The gray fabric rolled up her body, exposing her to the elements.

With an exhale, she lifted her shirt over her boobs and tucked it under her chin. Her son's lustful ogling made her squirm as his earthy moan knotted her stomach.

It's just a bikini top.

The mother didn't know whether to delude herself or accept the suffering as punishment for her sins. Either way, she wanted to cry, offering her deceptively large boobs and beige cups to her son.

"Helpful, or no?" she wryly asked.

Paul chuckled, amazed. The teenage son was not simply blinded by lust. He was in love, and had been for years. Although, now, he was also in love with her boobs.

Firm and smooth, their bell shape was inviting, especially touching in the beige bra. His mom's boobs were never massive, but they were big, with one having a vein running along the inside. They were as perfect as every other part of her.

He also loved her long neck. God, did he love it. "Oh my god," he mumbled through his smile. "Yeah... Helpful."

Again with her son's undivided attention, Heather returned to gently springing in her UGGs and tugging and swaying. She could feel her reddened tits shake. "Almost there?"

"Ye-ahhh," Paul sang. "I'm so close. Ahh! Can they bounce more?"

"Excuse me?" Her eyebrows shot to her forehead.

"No, sorry!" Paul smacked his head. "This is really good. My mind's gone. Sorry."

He had taken it back, but Heather couldn't ignore what he said. He was just as desperate as her, but unlike her, he knew what he needed.

Rolling her eyes at the sky, Heather stood tall on her toes, pushed her copper locks from her face, and interlocked her hands in a fist at her belly button. With her boobs pushed together between her arms, she bounced from her calves, higher and faster than before.