Mom's Ripple Effect (Extended)

Then a painful yank of her hair tore her away. She looked up at the younger father, who was delighted and gasping.

"Gah-damn! Woo! Wow, that was insane," he laughed. "But I wanna enjoy it a bit first."

Dragging her eyes, Heather mumbled through her short breath, "You don't even know how to take a bra off."

"Hey, I can, like, twenty percent of the time." He unhooked her strap, and her cups fell from her chest. Immediately, the air stung her areolas but were promptly pinched and fondled by heated hands.

With the beige loops dangling from her elbows, Heather shook them from her arms so they weren't in the way. Then she moved back in with her pink tongue, licking and sucking his testicles.

It seemed no matter how unenthused her gaze, Jackson's joy and lust never waned. He moaned, smiled, and groped with excitement, bucking as soon as her lips wrapped around his tip again.

Soon, his peacoat sleeves were tight against her ears, his neck strained, and eyes grew distant. He was nearly at the end.

Sucking, slurping, and tossing her neck, Heather threw herself into the final attack. His balls were in her grasp and tangy juice leaking onto her tongue.

He helplessly grunted and squeezed her left boob, muttering about her ass, her jeans, and the incredible head.

Running low on oxygen, Heather inhaled through her nose, desperate to fill her lungs without having to break her rapid thrusts. The ramming cockhead was hell on her lips and tongue, but it was so damn close.

When the gasps wheezed a certain pitch, she pushed his arms away. Once a hot favor for high school boyfriends, she now did for Jackson out of necessity. Popping her lips off his cock, she then held her tits out before him.

Without argument, he grabbed his wet cock, madly jerking it at her. A loud grunt echoed through the woods, followed by ropes of cum splattering on her boobs and neck.

Jackson beat himself and pumped until he was depleted. It was then that Heather felt safe to open her eyes again.

Once well-postured and silver-tongued, the crew dad was wilted over, gasping for air, his cock limp.

Wasting no time, Heather reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. She raised it to his exhausted face, and he held still for it to unlock. Then, pilfering through his photo gallery, she deleted the video and searched for any other recordings.

Once the trash was emptied, she sat back on her heels in relief. All evidence of what she did had been eradicated. Carelessly, she tossed the phone on the rock, looking up thankfully at the sky.

"Thank you," Jackson puffed. "Thanks so fucking much. You were amazing."

She nodded and glanced at the white goo melting on her chest. Standing up, she shook the dirt and leaves from her shearling sweater and removed her clutch. "Fuck..." she remembered, then turned to Jackson, "You wouldn't have any tissues, would you?"

"Huh. I thought you said you'd never talk to me again after this?" He smiled and handed her his handkerchief.

There were curly, dark hairs on it, likely from his poodle. Where is Penelope anyway? Did he tie her up to go get a handjob? Shaking her head, Heather wiped herself down and redressed.

"Alright, stay here for a while. Like, ten minutes at least. I'm not walking back with you," she ordered the crew dad, and he agreed.

Without a goodbye, she hiked down the hill.

----

For the rest of the afternoon, Heather looked out across the river, watching the occasional field of boats pass. Paul sat in the chair next to her, also silent, unable to see the warm tears flowing down her face.

It wasn't until the car ride home, long after her Paul had already fallen asleep, that Heather allowed her batting eyelids to grow heavy and her mind to ease into blackness.

*** Finals ***

The sun was a mere glint above the horizon and the Gaines family was already awake and active. Rich organized the logistics for rowers who had made it to the regional finals. Paul focused on his diet and race-day routine. And Heather "volunteered" to coordinate with other parents.

Her spirit was high though, since Paul needed to finish only in third to make Nationals. That result, she told herself, would make yesterday's sacrifice worth it.

So, ready or not, it was six o'clock on Sunday morning and time to go back to the scene of her greatest shame.

When the Gaineses pulled into the parking lot, the river bank resembled a deserted fairground. Canopy covers flapped in howling winds, testing the integrity of the ground stakes and sandbags. The sky was a frightening gray. And the few souls wandering about looked lost and miserable.

"Oh, perfect," Paul deadpanned, looking out at the Schuylkill.

But as gnarly as the chop was, with class tomorrow, it would take a thunderstorm to cancel the races. The regatta was on.

The silver lining of championship Sunday was the reduced program. With most rowers eliminated, there were fewer spectators and less waiting.

Unfortunately, for Heather, the most irksome parents had spawned talented rowers. So today was not much of a break.

She spent the early morning avoiding the team area, strolling along the grassy bank and watching brave students practice in the waves. The high winds blew crews off course, forcing coxswains to pilot the shells diagonally in order to go straight. Oars got caught under dark swells, ripping them from the rowers' hands.

Hopefully, Paul would power through.

Since her rain jacket and pullover did little against the biting wind, Heather marched to the bathroom hut upriver to sit in the heat. After two hours of solitude though, she craved civilization — and the food and coffee that came with it.

"Mornin', Heather!"

In the team canopy, she chose a chocolate muffin, then turned to the syrupy voice that greeted her. "Hey, Abel. Couldn't ask for a better day, could we?"

"No, of course, not. It's lovely!"

She shared a laugh before venturing out into the cold to eat in her camping chair.

"Ah! Is that another one?"

Heather chewed at Mary, swallowing nicely. "No, it's my first. But even if it were a second muffin, there's nothing wrong with living a little."

Puckering her pointed lips, Mary gestured, "I wasn't talking about the muffin...."

Heather glanced back toward Abel, an older, graying crew dad.

"Someone certainly does like to 'live a little,' doesn't she?" Mary's lordly eyes glimmered and reveled in delight.

Heather's gut sank, praying it was her paranoia. She abruptly excused herself and ran away, wanting to vomit.

On the path, she spotted the face of her dreams the night before. And he was with his preppy dog.

"Hi, Heather. I'm surp--"

"Shut up! Did you tell anyone about what we did?"

Jackson shook. "No, I promised you I wouldn't. But I'm always here to talk about it if you want."

"Hoo! Thank god," she sighed, pacing in a tight circle. "And, also, eww! Never!"

The blonde father chuckled, assuring, "I wasn't gonna open myself up to the wrath of Heather. The only person I told was Sean, but obviously--"

"What?!"

A group of passersby stared at the shouting woman in the middle of the path, so she lowered her voice.

"What the fuck, Jackson?"

"Relax. I told him not to tell anyone, and he knows to keep his mouth shut. And I only mentioned what we did, nothing about what led to it or anything about the video. All that stuff, I'll take to my grave."

Her thin, white limbs boiled with rage. "You fucking moron! After what I did for you? You know Sean's already told a bunch of other people."

Wiping her eyes, she felt her family and reputation hanging by a thread, and there was no escape. Every time she tried to solve a problem, it created a bigger one, like another ripple in the water from the drop of a single stone.

"Sorry, Heather. I don't think he's going to tell anyone, though."

"He already has! Mary knows. Which means Gretchen knows. Which means my husband is about to fucking know, along with everyone else!"

Jackson covered his face, hiding his guilt. "I'm sorry. What can I do? I swear, if anyone asks, I'll deny it and act like they're crazy. I was in plays in high school. I can--"

"Would you shut up? It doesn't matter. Don't you get it? Even if people find out it's bullshit, they'll still see that story when they look at me. And there'll be people who always wanna believe it, and they'll bring it up forever."

She pirouetted, adding, "Why did you have to tell someone? You weren't supposed to. Why did you think your buddy would stay quiet when you couldn't even keep your mouth shut?"

Jackson scratched and combed his hair, clearly disappointed in himself. "Listen, I know this is bad, and I understand why you care about people finding out what we did. But at least people aren't hearing a made-up rumor about you. That would be worse, right?"

Seeing his life flash in her green eyes, Jackson backpedaled with Penelope. His advice and presence were no longer welcome.

Upon Heather's return to camp, she sensed more than the air swirling, as some team parents who had barely spoken to her before were now glancing with intrigue.

The moving lips and wandering eyes were torturous, as she never knew if it was about her. Powerless, an animal in a zoo, she wished to close her eyes and wake up in bed at home.

Unable to bear it any longer, she left the team area and walked the path, staving off tears.

"Hello, Heather!"

She blinked, happy to see two friendly faces. Doug and Isabel's son rowed for the Varsity Eight, but they were distant from the team, rarely showing up because of work conflicts. Heather liked them.

"Hi, Doug. Hi, Izzy. How are you?"

"We're fine," Isabel nodded, picking her fingers. "Are you okay, though? You seem a little worried."

Needing to know, Heather pushed her copper hair behind her ear. "This might seem weird and probably childish, but... Have either of you heard any rumors about me?"

They immediately turned to each other, chins moving with uncertainty. Then they both looked toward the canopy, as if to make sure nobody could see them talking to her.

"You can be honest with me. Please, tell me."

Isabel winced and nodded. Doug quickly said, "We don't think it's true, though."

"And what was the rumor?" Heather asked. Seeing their reluctance, she promised, "You can tell me."

"Um, again, Heather, Doug and I don't believe a word of it. And we definitely aren't doing anything to spread it. But, uh, some people are saying that you..."

"...Had fun with some of the dads here," Doug finished. "On our team and on some of the others."

She stared ahead.

"Are you okay, Heather? I'm so sorry, I didn't wanna say it. I feel so bad. Some of those people are so jealous and cruel. Don't listen to them for a second."

"No, it's... I see..." She tried to stay strong, it being the only sense of control she had left. "And what do you mean by 'fun,' exactly? I get the gist, but...."

They tucked their lips in, looking at each other.

"Please. I need to know what people are saying so I can defend myself."

Leaning in, Isabel gritted her teeth and whispered, "Oral sex."

----

He's going to hear the gossip. He'll hear it from one of these monsters' sons. Then Rich will hear about it, and your marriage will fall apart, and then Paul will have to deal with all that on top of hating you.

All of this because you didn't fucking lock a door. You damaged your son, and he'll never unsee it. Maybe if you had yelled at him to leave right away, things would be different now?

You don't deserve this much punishment, though. You bit your tongue around these psychos for years, and now they're spreading lies that you blew half the rowing community.

God, and you're such an easy target for them, too. Hah! The poor one. The one with the magical power of sleeping next to the coach. The one the bitchy women catch their douchebag husbands looking at.

Face it, they wanna believe you're a slut. They've been waiting for this forever. I'm sure this is Christmas morning for Mary and Gretchen and that whole clique. And their husbands, too.

God, do you think Jackson told Sean about your boobs and that you got naked? Whatever. It wouldn't matter. Now, you're the poor and shitty, cheating wife.

Heather stood across the lawn from the canopy and team area, hugging her slender body and looking upon all she had lost.

For better or worse, this was her community that she had devoted years of her life to shaping. The people were her neighbors and important to her life, whether they saw it that way or not.

So, it crushed her to imagine how they now saw her. And, worse, she couldn't defend herself because the truth was even more shocking than the lie.

She was an unwilling adulteress, a mother who chose to put her son before her marriage, but nobody would ever believe her — or care about the difference even if they did.

Sighing, Heather figured the other parents were too cowardly to say anything to her face, so she returned to the Gladwyne bubble.

The stolen stares and hushed tones were the same as she walked into the flaps of the canopy and emerged with a chocolate muffin. Once in her camping chair, those around her went quiet.

Maybe you should stand up on your chair and announce that you didn't suck a bunch of dicks. She snorted, finding the speck of humor in her situation, then bit into her muffin.

"Howdy, again."

"Oh, hey, Abel. Is your day going well?"

"It's goin'. How 'bout yours?"

"Um," she mulled, "To be honest, it could be a lot better."

"Ah. One of those?" He sucked his cheek, then lowered his head as he passed by. "If you're ever lookin' to turn your day around, I'm always available." He offered a friendly smile and moved along.

Dropping her muffin, Heather sprinted away, not stopping un

til she was in the bathroom. Alone in a brown, graffitied stall, she bawled her eyes out. Beyond a pariah, the other parents no longer saw her as a person.

Zzz! Zzz!

Turning her wrist, the name on the notification made her smile, and she quickly pulled her phone from her pocket. Paul always made her laugh when she was down, often by accident.

Paul:

I don't know if this is okay for me to say or not...

But I'm having the problem again

Heather:

Ok... Can we talk about it later??

Paul:

Yeah

But

I don't think I'll be able to row again

Staring at her phone, Heather screamed into the concrete chamber. "AHHH! Him, too?! FUCK! Why? Why?" She had seen the world's true colors today, and it had sharpened her edge.

Heather:

Then fix it yourself, Paul!

How dare you try to take advantage of me after what I did.

Paul:

No! I'm not!

I swear this isn't a joke

I can't get rid of it

I tried FOREVER!

Heather:

Then either row with a boner or kiss Princeton goodbye.

Don't EVER message me about this again!

That little shit! That's it. I'm done. I'm not even watching his race, she tearfully thought.

Of course, that was a lie. Her competitive nature would never allow her to miss it. Plus, all fury aside, she knew this problem was of her own doing.

----

Beep beep! Beep beep!

Heather checked her ringing watch and sat up. It was the alarm she had set after nearly missing her son's race the day before.

Out of the bathroom, she ran, having no time to go back to the team area for her binoculars. But when she reached the stone wall and looked across the water, there was only one royal-blue uniform.

Already underway, the delicate sculls appeared even flimsier and lighter as they tossed about and fought the rough swells. A rower in green blew off course, smashing into the side of another, both clinging to the other's oars to avoid falling in.

While Paul only needed to finish in the top half of the remaining six, his prospects were bleak. Never, not even in middle school in worse chop, had Heather seen him row so terribly.

She laughed maniacally at the gray sky, tipping her hat to the universe for its final punishment. Everything she had done, in the end, was for naught.

As the field passed her, it was clear in Paul's body language that there wasn't another miracle in store. He was in fifth, and barely at that.

Soon, the young athletes were mere dots of color and splashing water. But nobody needed binoculars to see one of the leaders "catch a crab" — his oar getting caught under a wave and swinging his boat.

When the sprint began, or the alleged sprint, another dot succumbed to an explosion of white water. And while it was impossible to read the places, Heather could see Paul move past the two distressed boats on his way to the finish line.

Did he just get third?

On pure adrenaline, she ran down the embankment, weaving through the other team areas. Meanwhile, she refreshed the race website on her phone every second for the results. And, finally, they posted.

Holy shit... He did it.

Perhaps the most undeserved third place of all time, it didn't matter. Paul was going to Nationals.

----

By Heather's watch, it had been forty-five minutes since Paul's race, and he had yet to return to the canopy for food. Could he be mad at her for not helping? That would be absurd.

You could've used a little more empathetic tone, though.

She texted her husband, asking if he had seen him, and waited on the response:

Rich:

I think he's in a tent cooking down.

You might want to let him be alone for a while.

Heather:

Why's that?

Rich:

He was a bit "excited" in his pants after the race...

Other rowers saw.

Don't tell him I told you.

Shit. She sunk into her hands, feeling like the worst mother in the world. Her son had come to her with a serious problem, one she caused, and she scolded him, treating him like a liar and a creep.

His terrible race began to make sense, causing her to feel worse. Even though she couldn't have helped him, not again, she at least wouldn't have abandoned him an hour before the trophy race.

So, ignoring her husband's advice, Heather hastened across the path to the athlete tents.

Set back on the park lawn and isolated from the fanfare, the scattered camping tents were for rowers to hang out and keep warm before races and to decompress after. And it didn't take long for Heather to find a small, yellow tent with a single silhouette.

"Paul?"

There was a delay. "Yes?"

She squatted and pushed her copper hair back. "Hi, honey. Can you open up?"

"No."

"Are you sure?" She surveyed the other tents, which appeared to be empty. But, still, she whispered, "I just want to tell you I'm sorry for saying all those things. I didn't mean then, and I should've believed you. I've been having a weird, rough day — and I know that's not an excuse — but I was in an angry place. And I'm sorry."

"I had to pick my boat up over my head and carry it!" Paul breathed inside the tent, sounding like he had cried. "I thought if I kept my oars in front of me, nobody would notice. But now, everyone's talking about me."

I can relate. The mother sighed. "You have every right to be mad at me for ignoring you."

"I'm not mad at you."

"Well, maybe you should be. I mean, I don't think I would've helped that way again, but maybe I could've walked in front of you or given you my sweatshirt right after. The point is, we could've figured out something. And instead I let you down.

"Paul, I know your problem was because of what I did yesterday. I know you were probably thinking about it and--"

"It wasn't yesterday," he asserted himself. "Mom, this happens all the time. This problem happens all the time. I always think about you."