Mom's Ripple Effect (Extended)

Pulling at her fingers, Heather examined her son. He had grown taller, now with a sharp jaw and confident posture. And his muscles were there but still in development, much like his wisdom. She had raised a solid young man. And she had no doubt he'd do well on his own this fall.

The thud of a car door in the driveway, startled them. And Heather checked her watch, knowing her husband had gotten back from the boathouse.

"I still haven't showered," Paul chuckled, then bounded upstairs.

Meanwhile, Heather matted her sweatpants and hoodie, opening her magazine and sitting with poise. "Why am I pretending to read?"

*** Travel ***

"Alright, everyone, time to roll! We can get there by midnight if we leave now."

The Gaines household was a swarming beehive, people and objects flying in and out of the front door. Rich tried to load the car while fielding phone calls from inept parents. Meanwhile, Paul triple-checked his bags to ensure all his uniforms and gear would make the trip. And Heather made sure nothing essential was left behind, while her mind was on the upcoming regatta and the conversation she had with her son in the living room two days prior.

"All set?" Rich shouted, urging them out the door. They all knew, being the Friday evening of a holiday weekend, the four-drive would surely take six.

They piled into the minivan, set the GPS for Upstate New York, and took off, buzzing. Their quest to national glory had begun.

It was just before midnight when they arrived in downtown Syracuse. Paul's face was pressed against the glass as they drove, taking in the stately hotel. The three, identical brown towers of historic brick and glass rose from a white base that shined like gold in the amber street lamps. He turned to see his parents' reaction, though they were too busy arguing over where to park.

When they went inside, the front desk was beneath a ceiling of gold and carved wood. The furniture and pillars were traditional, and the odor was timeless. Gladwyne Prep hadn't cheaped out for the trip. Not that it ever did.

While his parents trudged into an elevator with their luggage, Paul waited for another one that would take him to a higher floor in a different tower. He was excited to find the room he'd share with his teammate, not sure how he'd fall asleep.

But the instant he saw his hotel bed, the young rower's eyelids grew heavy.

*** Nationals ***

Paul's eyes opened, and he threw the silky sheets from his face, springing out of bed. He was feeling good, very good. And he was ready to seize the day.

"Seventy-one degrees. Let's go!" He pumped his fist, then winced at his stirring teammate in the other bed. He turned his alarm off, which he beat by ten minutes.

With the lake a short ride away and it not even 7 a.m., there was all the time in the world to warm up and eat before heading to the lake for his 10:15 time trial. Which was good because he had a date with an exercise bike in the gym.

Meanwhile, stories below and a tower over, Heather snored. She didn't normally, but then again, she was usually at the water by now, helping to set up the team area.

At dawn, when Rich nudged her shoulder, she glared at him with her half-open green eyes. Eventually, he got the message and backed away softly.

Today, when she decided to wake up, she would enjoy her Saturday off and the trappings of being a regular rowing mom — if there were such a thing.

After a shower, Paul elevated down to the hotel restaurant where he was supposed to meet his mom for breakfast. And the crowd immediately overwhelmed him.

Students and parents from all over the country packed into the restored Roaring Twenties dining hall. The hardwood floors were patterned, the tables were draped in white, and the pillars were high. But it amounted to nothing more than a zoo.

"Fuck yes," he mumbled, spotting the silver dishes lining the long buffet. Unfortunately, the queue was even longer.

Then once he finally had the chance to load his tray, he looked out into the hall, barely able to see five steps ahead of him, let alone see his mom as he walked.

"There he is!"

He stopped, angled his neck, and woke up again. If not for the shining reddish-orange waves and her dimpled smile, he never would've picked out his mom.

"Hi," he said, inspecting her light jeans and canary yellow V-neck.

Heather's faintly freckled nose puffed. She found humor in her son's startled reaction, as there were two other moms in sight wearing similar tees. And if anything, hers offered less cleavage. Not that her son seemed to care.

"Here." She pushed out the chair next to her, lifting her purse from the seat. "I tried getting a table, but as you can see.... I should've camped out the night before like you did outside Best Buy for that video game that one time."

"That wasn't my idea. It was Francis'," Paul chuckled and sat on the barstool. The breakfast counter looked out through the window onto the sidewalk.

Then the mother and son dined on their eggs, yogurt, and fruit. Although, with Paul, it was more shoveling.

While chewing, his curious eyes wandered to the curves below his mom's neckline, like soft, yellow grapefruits. And beneath her slim waist was round, denim padding.

None of this was lost on the mother, who began in her high but weighted voice, "I thought a lot about what you said. And you were right. I shouldn't have to change what I wear because I'm afraid. And baggy clothes won't erase what happened anyway. But you're going to start controlling your staring, okay?"

They briefly made eye contact, then Paul nodded, "I will," forcing his gaze onto his fluffy eggs.

"So anyway... How ya feelin' about the time trial?" She changed the subject to his relief.

"Really good! I'm amped up for it and got a great night's sleep. I'm a little nervous, obviously, but no more than usual."

"Woo! Well, you sound ready."

----

The lake was close enough where if there weren't another building in the way, Paul could've seen it from the gym. But it was too long of a walk, so his mom hailed a ride.

It felt strange to begin a race day waiting on a curb in t-shirt and shorts with nothing but a drawstring sack on his back. And his mom felt the same way, checking her purse like she had to be forgetting something.

A sedan soon picked them up and drove them through the tree-lined streets of downtown Syracuse. The shops, museums, and highrises were already bustling.

Minutes later, they arrived at the Lake Onondaga Fairgrounds.

"Jeez," Heather breathed, surveying the traffic and mobbed fields.

A pop-up city had formed, constructed of colorful canopies, tents, banners, signs, booths, and shops.

Paul wondered if his dad had left early enough to avoid the maze of roadblocks they were now stuck in.

And as they crawled through the park roads, Heather kept her face to the glass as they went over speed bumps. She didn't want to know.

He's a man. They're boobs. He'll look sometimes. You talked about this, Heather. As long he respects you and tries his best, you be patient and take it in stride.

Once finally in the drop-off zone, the mother and son stepped out into the warm sun and stretched. Excitement was in the morning air, along with the gobbles of thousands of teenagers and parents.

"I gotta be in the water in ninety minutes, so I'm gonna go to the trailer and check my boat then warm-up."

"Okay. Now, do you have your water bottle?"

"Yes."

"Your spare socks?"

"Yes."

"Do you have any food in case you get hungry?"

"Mom, we just ate a massive breakfast."

Flashing a stern eyebrow he knew all too well, Paul opened his bag as she dropped a homemade sandwich inside.

"Thanks," he said maturely, too cool to smile at the doting gesture.

"You know I have to," Heather smiled. "Now, go! And good luck! I'll be watching."

"I know," Paul blushed and turned for the boat trailer.

As he glanced back, he saw his mom strolling down the grass toward the water, seeming lighter and freer than usual. "I'm sorry I made you feel uncomfortable for all those months," he wanted to say, sensing she'd appreciate hearing it more today.

"There you are! We didn't see you and thought you might've gotten lost and ended up in the wrong canopy."

"No," Heather laughed, then said, "I did check some other canopies out, though. And some of them have much nicer heaters than ours. A parent I was talking to a few plots over said he'd text me where to find the same one."

The team area fell silent. And Gretchen blinked as the fathers formed a wall of blank stares. But Heather had nothing more to add about her fictional interaction with a mystery dad from the other team.

"Well..." Gretchen licked her pointed lips, "That's nice."

"It is," Heather smiled happily. Then, with a spring in her step, she grabbed a celebratory chocolate muffin from the canopy and joined the other parents, standing amongst them, unashamed.

Fuck, you forgot a chair.

Instead of a stone wall on a fast river, there was green brush along the placid, narrow lake. So Heather stood where the sediment met the water, admiring the grace and competitive drama of the early time trials.

Her smartwatch soon beeped, and it was 9:15, an hour before Paul's trial. Taking her phone out and swirling her thumbs over the keyboard, she eventually typed a message.

Heather:

Hey, have you eaten your sandwich yet?

Paul:

I'm not hungry yet.

I will after tho 🙂

Heather:

Trust me... Go eat it now.

A half-mile west, Paul jogged to the boat trailer and found his drawstring bag, removing the sandwich his mom insisted he eat.

Though when he unwrapped the plastic, the filling wasn't peanut butter but a ziplock bag. And inside was a tiny bottle of clear fluid, hidden in purple fabric.

Steroids?

Crouching behind a wheel, he unzipped the bag. The familiar scent hit him, overwhelming his nostrils and hastening his heart.

He then read the note stuck to the bottom slice of multigrain bread:

Paul, I know there's no hamper here. So this is yesterday's. I added lube (it should help a lot). Row fast!

-Mom

As the bag crinkled in his trembling hand, Paul felt his cock push into his singlet. He thanked his mom.

In the team area, Heather bubbled as her nerves and doubts melted away. Her idea had worked. He's gonna cum easily today.

----

A boat of five inspiring girls glided over the murky blue water, the coxswain hollering their orders. And Heather glanced at her wrist, surprised her son hadn't messaged her again to let her know the "sandwich" had worked.

I don't need another thank you, but at least give me an emoji of a thumbs up or a GIF, or meme, or whatever....

Heather:

Hey...

Did it help??

Paul:

It's going well! I'm really close!

Heather:

Good 🙂

He must've waited a while to start.

Paul:

Is there any way you get my shirt for me?

It's hanging on the boat trailer

Please 🙏

But if not, it's cool.

Heather:

Yeah

Where are you?

And why do you need a shirt??v

Paul:

I'm in the back of the parking lot behind a white trailer.

... It's got a big logo on it.

The shirt is just in case I don't finish in time.

(... To help cover up)

Now with more questions than answers, Heather decided to hurry to the boat trailer rather than play text tag.

After avoiding her husband, who was distracted by instructing younger rowers, Heather nabbed her son's gray tee from the trailer basin and went into the parking lot.

The Fairgrounds lot was sprawling and full. However, beyond the far perimeter, there was a white shipping container.

When Heather reached it, she looked around and knocked on the metal, unsure of the proper custom.

"Mom?" Her son's voice sounded from behind it.

"Yeah, it's me." She leaned against the side door, kicking the clovers in the uncut grass. "So, was the bathroom full or...?"

"No, but the lube would've been way too loud," he laughed.

"Oh." Heather nodded, scanning the surroundings. Across the park road and nestled between a large container and the trees, there were certainly dumber locations. It wasn't like anybody else had a reason to be here. "Are you decent?"

"Yeah. You can come back here."

She slipped around the corner and saw her son, leaning forward in his blue singlet, his tan arms barred across his lap. In his left hand was her purple thong from yesterday.

Skin crawling, Heather tried to hold her composure. "So, uh, why exactly do you need a shirt?"

"In case I don't make it. I think I will. But in case I don't, I don't want another repeat of last Sunday." Paul wiped his thick eyebrows. "I'll toss it at the dock if I don't need it. It's not like it's a big deal if somebody steals it."

"Right. But what I don't understand is why you think you might not make it. You have twenty minutes until you have to be in the water."

"I know... But better safe than sorry."

On a hunch, Heather peeked at his arms hugging his gut. "Has anything come out yet?"

"No, but--"

"Dammit, Paul!" Her voice caused rustling in the trees. "You know you get precum. So why the hell did you tell me you were close?"

"Cos I didn't want you to freak out at me again! I didn't want you to think I was trying to trick you into helping." His cheeks were red and his eyes sorrowful.

"Great. So the thong did nothing?"

"No! It helped a lot. I got hard instantly because of it. And the lube feels good, too. It's just... I don't know... not happening today."

Heather huffed in disappointment, knowing it wasn't her son's fault. Then another hunch prompted her to ask, "Have you ejaculated at all since last Saturday?"

His face snapped to hers and froze.

"Hoo... And you've tried every day?"

He nodded.

"With my underwear?"

"Uh... Yeah?"

"Oh, lovely! Fantastic!" Heather pirouetted, her arms open to the sky. She then implored her son to tell her, "So, why did you think it would suddenly work now? Why lie to me? Seriously, why didn't you text me when you saw my note and say it wouldn't do anything?"

"I didn't want you to think I was asking for more help," he explained again, leaning back.

"I would've rather you asked for help! Now you've wasted all this time," she scolded, rubbing her face.

Then collecting herself, she stressed to him with her hands, "Honey, this isn't time to mess around, okay? This is it — this is Nationals. Everything we did was for this, and there is no second chance. So, if you have a problem and need help, tell me right away. Then I'll make the call."

She gestured, "Remember what you said? You can't make a problem go away by pretending it doesn't exist."

He bobbed his head, twisting in frustration. "I know. I should've said something. But I do need help now. For real."

"Yes, honey," she massaged her eyelids, "I figured that one out on my own."

You gotta be fucking kidding me. Heather cracked her neck and exhaled.

"So, um..." Paul wagged his running shoe, "are you going to, uh--"

"Well, I'm here, aren't I?"

His eyes and jaw opened with awe. "You...? Thank you."

"Has the lube made things easier? Because it should speed things along here."

He quickly switched gears and answered, "Uh, yeah, it did. I had to stop, though, because it was stinging my uniform."

"How?"

He moved his arm, showing the dark splotches at his waistline.

"Jeez, Paul! Were you reaching inside this whole time?"

His ears burned red. "Yeah."

Heather smacked her forehead, wondering how her son could be so wise at times and other times so stupid. "Take it out."

"What?"

"Take it out. You heard me correctly."

As stunned as her son appeared, she had an even harder time believing the words leaving her lips. But she couldn't think about that now.

Perhaps recent events had made her a more practical woman because she saw no reason not to get straight to the point. "The lube won't work if it's rubbing off on your suit."

"So, you want me to take it out... with you just standing there?"

"If I'm doing this, you can do that. Now change into your shorts."

She turned her back, giving him privacy to change out of his singlet. And when Paul gave the word, she saw him standing on the grass in his gray tee and black gym shorts.

"Okay. You can put the lube on."

He pulled a little bottle from his pocket, and his hands trembled as he squirted the clear fluid into his right palm. Then the mother and son shared an awkward glance before he pushed his shorts down to his thighs, exposing his dick.

Human indeed, Heather peeked at the beige erection, tall and rigid. It had been years since she had last seen her son's penis, which now had adult tufts of brown at the base.

Then it was taken by a loose hand and began to glisten in the sun.

"Now what?"

Closing her eyes, Heather answered, "Um, you can touch it now, and I'll... I'll do the thing. Oh, yeah," she mentioned, "and if you wanna use the thong, you'll have to cover it in lube too."

Two paces away, Paul nodded and squeezed the purple fabric around his shaft, pouring lube on it as well. Then he started to stroke.

Heather grappled with the fact this was real and not a weird dream. But she quickly remembered why she was there.

Swiveling her head, she ensured nobody could see them — dog walkers included. Then she pulled her yellow tee over her head.

"Oh my god..." Paul gawked at her boobs, which were rounded by a simple white bra. They were perky today, sporting the same two vein lines.

Both his heart and cock were about to burst as his mom stood half-naked in broad daylight. She was a beautiful pallet of ivory, green, copper, clothed in white and light blue. Even her belly button was sexy.

Heather checked her watch, aware of the dangers of drawing it out. "You gotta be on your way to the water in ten minutes."

"Alright," Paul said, already shallow in breath.

Then, with a deep breath, Heather flexed her calves and bounced.

"Hoo! Ahh...."

She studied the oriental symbols on the shipping container's side, trying to ignore the moans and slippery squishing. She then twisted her hips from side to side, remembering how the view had served her well last time.

"Your boobs look really good in that."

"Thank you," she uttered, now aware of them jiggling.

"Is that a thong?"

"Hmm?" Heather blinked and followed her son's eyes to the blue string poking above her denim waistband. Then she looked up at his mystified, brown eyes.

A flick from her finger made his neck tense. So she curiously hooked her thumbs under and tugged.

Paul gasped and gaped in wonder as the blue strings stretched over her hips. "Woah."

It was so simple and revealed nothing, yet was clearly effective. So Heather ran with it, pulling at her thong as she sprung on her toes and twisted. The only times she stopped were to push her hair back after it fell over her face.

Soon, she peeked at her son's lap again and was taken aback by the brute jerking. "Jeez," she winced, "it's not a bike pump. You have to massage it more."

Paul slowed his arm, moving it more steadily below his strained neck muscles. "I'm a fan of the thong."

"Yeah. I noticed."

"Could I get a sandwich with that tomorrow?"

"BWAHAHA!" Heather muffled her laugh as water welled in her eyes. It was how seriously her son said it that did it.

"Hoo!" she breathed, returning to her movements. "Well, I'm wearing it today... And if you row well, you'll need to masturbate tomorrow. So... up to you."