My Other Mother Ch. 02byAmeaner©
Thursday. At first, I thought I was waking up in our former home, in my room where everything was comparatively sane, surprise and worry free. Then somebody kissed my mouth, the most perfectly soft contact of full lips touching mine as the smell of a very nice perfume demanded my waking interest.
I remembered everything in the same instant that I opened my eyes and saw those of my other mother. Seeing I was awake, she straightened, looking down at my expression of recall and spoke through a fond smile.
"I let you sleep in."
I only looked at her, unable to form any kind of coherent statement in my mind of cottony sleep, clogged with frozen images of the side of her breast and memories of how she wanted to know my dick size.
Her smile grew wider as she continued to regard me. She was wearing a pair of snug blue jeans and a sexy, yet somehow elegant, red wrap shirt with a moderately deep V-neck. I'd seen her wear the shirt before, but always with a visible camisole to hide the eye teasing amount of cleavage it showed that morning. She must have been wearing a pushup bra to attain the impressive lift I was seeing and I felt myself beginning to get hard again, looking at her dressed this way. She was usually more conservative.
"How... how'd you get out of bed without waking me up?" I asked, a valid question considering the little hole we slept in.
"C'mon, hon, time to get up," she said, ignoring my question. "You're with me today."
After my shower, I ate a bowl of soup she'd heated for me, stealing glances at her as she browsed a phone book for whatever reason. Her attention and focus was almost disturbing, as was her immediate and full attention when I finally got up the nerve to ask about something.
"I gotta ask... How'd you do that?" I inquired curiously, gesturing to the television and game console, a stack of seven games sitting beside it.
She looked over to the electronics in question, allowing her expressionless gaze to linger as though she'd just noticed them there before turning back to me.
"They're stupid. The whole bunch of them. While I was... asserting myself, I couldn't help but notice that."
She picked up her coffee, took a sip as though that were the end of that, but went on after she put her mug back on the table.
"First of all, they had two stupid druggie whores hanging around down there. Wherever there's a whore with a free hand, there's a stupid man. In this case, it was the drummer and rhythm guitar player. Anyway, I made some rather cutting, but accurate observations about them and the band and what their chances were, mixed with just the kind of hopeful stuff people turn onto. Just as I was walking out the door, Jamie, who at least has half a brain and really wants to get somewhere, started asking my opinions of other things. Long story short, the two losers and their druggie whores are gone and now I'm their manager."
I was understandably impressed and could only smile that sentiment.
"Jamie can replace those two, he told me so. He knows people who are better, but apparently they were old buddies or whatever and you know how that goes."
"So... weren't they mad about being kicked out?"
"Not once I explained it to them."
" ... Heh, and... you're actually gonna manage a blues band?"
"Do you think... I mean, will they make it?"
"Who knows? It depends on the group dynamic once the two new guys come into play. If they're all smart enough to listen to me, I'd say they stand a half decent chance by what I've seen in Jamie and Bob."
"They're going to pay you?" I asked.
"They've already started," she said, waving her hand nonchalantly at the television. "It's not cash, but that won't come along until we no longer have need of them anyway. In the meantime, we now have more resources to draw on, which is why you're with me today. We have a job."
After I was ready, we took a nice leisurely walk along the warm, sunny sidewalks of the old city, noting the architecture and other clues as to its history. Before long, she led me into a corner store where she purchased two packages of cigarettes. She stopped outside after we left the store, put one package in her purse, opened the other, removed a cigarette and then, incredibly, she produced a lighter and lit it!
"C'mon, hon," she hailed, holding out her free hand and taking a puff afterward.
After a brief pause, I practically stumbled forward, taking her hand and walking alongside. In retrospect, I find it a bit comical how I never even stopped to think of what I was doing, walking along holding 'Mummy's' hand like a mama's boy. Despite her authoritative past, the last thing I am, or ever was is a mama's boy, but no, I only stared at her.
She took note of me and my reaction, saying, "Is your mum freaking you out?"
" ... Well... yeah."
She hissed a short laugh at this, along with a lungful of smoke that the light breeze from the bay carried away, then offered, "I never minded a smoke every now and then when I was a lot younger. Plus, they can come in kind of handy at times, being a common addiction of so many people. Still freaked out about our sleeping arrangements?"
" ... I can't help it. I mean, you actually felt my... (sigh) right against you. It's embarrassing and I don't know what to think."
"I suppose sleeping all night with your topless mother didn't help."
"Well, it's alright. I mean, it's not like anything happened and it's not your fault if your cock gets hard in bed with me."
"Mum, it's not like that. I'm..."
"I... I'm kind of a pervert. I think about sex a lot and it was pretty hard for me to control my... It's just really hard for me being close to you like that."
"Nice pun, unintended as I'm sure it was. Sweetie pie, I told you I understand how it is with you, you don't have to worry what I'll think. If you did, I wouldn't have peeled my nightie down last night. You wouldn't even be in the same bed with me. Like I said, our circumstances don't provide for much modesty between us, so..."
"No, Mum, I mean... I'm a lot more, um... driven than most guys, even other guys my age."
"Of course you are; you're a Burchell. I told you I understood that about you. Why do you think I was the one to give you the sex talk and not your father? Why do you think you got to keep all your smut magazines? Did you think I never found them? Did you think I wasn't aware of what you were looking at online and that it was possible for me to easily block your computer from those sites if I'd wanted?"
"You... You knew?"
"I used to check your online history every week. Nice pic collection too, by the way."
" ... That file was encoded."
She laughed out loud at that and asked, "How long do you really think it took me to try 'S-T-A-C-I'?"
"How embarrassing," I drily lamented, feeling my face going beet red as I walked along hand in hand with her, remembering some of those pics.
"Don't be. I'm actually quite proud you never went out and made a male whore of yourself. There's a lot of things about you I'm proud of. Mind if I ask a personal question?"
It was my turn to laugh a bit, finding that funny after sleeping with her the way I did.
"What?" she asked with a curious smile.
"At this point, I don't see why not."
"That's the spirit, hon. How often do you masturbate?"
"Wh- Aww... Geez, Mum."
"I have my reasons for wanting to know."
" ... Well actually, I haven't since we left home. We're, uh..."
"Always together," she finished. "I suppose you wouldn't have had any chance. Me neither. So, how often did you get yourself off?"
"(Sigh) Twice a day, sometimes three or four."
"What about the little whore?"
" ... She was fun, but just not enough for me."
"Well, she was... She just couldn't live up to my imagination, stupid as that sounds."
"Not at all, but very few people can. It takes the right partner and good, open communication. Your father tried to be that person for me at first, but in time he lost interest."
"Maybe Phyllis's imagination was easier."
"Ha! Probably. He always did seem to need things to come easy. You know, I used to masturbate quite a lot, too. About as often as you, sometimes more after he lost interest in me. ... Sheila and I used to masturbate a lot. It was fun and it relieved a lot of that pressure."
"In bed, yes. ... You're imagining that right now, aren't you?"
"Mum!" I complained, turning red again."
"I know, don't you hate when I do that?"
" ... Yes!"
We ended up at an apartment building, another ancient red brick construction, but this one much nicer with painted white concrete steps, period doors and windows. Jamie answered the bell and greeted both of us with a bright smile, handing a set of keys to Mum.
"Hey, Kathleen, Steve. Nice morning, huh?"
"Beautiful, and thanks so much, Jamie," she said, standing a few steps below him which must have offered a nice view down the front of her shirt. I myself caught a glimpse at the edges of her white bra several times that day. "We'll gas her up when we're done. How are things coming on the replacements?"
"Got them both coming for tomorrow night after supper, if that's okay."
"Perfect," Mum approved.
"You'll be there, right?"
"Absolutely. Come to our door when you get there, you know where we are."
"Right on. Have you thought of a new name for us yet?"
"Not just yet. I want to see the new band and how you gel first, how you sound together."
"Aren't you glad I kicked your door in?"
"Yeah!" he laughed heartily.
"You really get a kick out of that, don't you?"
He laughed even harder.
"We'll have her back as soon as possible."
"No prob, Kathleen," he laughed, adding, hey, I forgot to mention, 'Park' is actually 'Reverse', 'Reverse' is 'Neutral', 'Neutral' is 'Drive'..." he trailed off, laughing too hard to speak now as Mum also chuckled good naturedly, her brow raised. Even I was laughing a bit at this point.
"Best not to get that confused, huh?" she assumed, putting him into a near bladder bursting belly laugh.
He was still chuckling when we left him to retreat back inside his building. We walked down the sidewalk a little way, a smile on our faces, too.
"A lot of musicians are nothing more than dirtbag losers when it comes right down to it," she judged, "but the great thing about them is that they almost all have a wonderful sense of humour. Here we are."
She passed me the keys and stopped by the passenger side door of a beat up old, Aerostar, the surface of the dark blue minivan covered in rust spots, scrapes, dings and bashes. It looked like it was too heavy for its own suspension as it huddled there, parallel parked at the curb.
"Remember the transmission," she instructed, her smile mostly gone.
It was impossible not to begin seeing the way she operated and that her definition of going out to find work differed radically from mine. I took the keys and started around the other side of the vehicle, only to be stopped by her clipped, now completely unamused voice.
I stopped right up, turned to look and saw an expression that reminded me of how I was dealing with my other mother.
"Yes, Mum?" I asked, suddenly nervous.
Those strangely bright, yet black and empty eyes looked pointedly at the passenger door, then back at me.
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
"Sorry," I mumbled.
I hurried back around from the front of the van, understanding what she expected of me. The thing about it was that she never expected that kind of thing before.
"Well, don't you think it's proper?" her cold, instructional voice asked.
"Yes, Mum, I just didn't think."
"Yes, well you didn't think to do it at the store, either."
"I- I'll make sure to get it from now on."
"See that you do. I raised you to have more respect for me than that and I think I deserve to get it. Don't you?"
"Yes, Mum, absolutely."
She said nothing more, didn't even look at me while climbing into the van as I held the door for her, being careful not to rudely slam it once she was aboard. After I'd come around to the other side, I was hesitant to get in, uncomfortable with being in an enclosed space with her, but I didn't dare pause. Once inside, I quickly got the heap started so I could hit the power window at my side, thanking God that it actually worked in case I needed to jump out of it.
"Remember the gearshift, sweetie pie," she reminded in the sweetest tone imaginable.
My head whipped around to see her regarding me with the most patient, loving expression, completely devoid of her mood of less than thirty seconds before.
"Y-yeah. I'll remember."
" ... You look really good today."
"Flatterer!" she laughed, lightly backhanding my upper arm with the backs or her fingers. "Let's go, back the way we came."
Just over five minutes later, after having navigated all the crazy one way streets, we trundled to a stop in front of a rundown building on a street that looked even worse than ours did. I secured the Aerostar in 'Reverse' and climbed out, hurrying around to let her out.
"Thank you, hon."
She walked to a door with peeling, light green paint and stood aside so I could also open that one for her to lead me up a dark, narrow, carpeted stairwell to a small landing where she knocked on one of the two doors there. A moment later, heavy footfalls from the other side of the door approached. It opened to reveal a guy with a face like a rotted pork chop and who looked a lot less than friendly.
He was maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, almost as tall as me with short, slightly mussed up black hair and big, meaty, un-toned arms covered in tattoos. More body art crept from under the neck of his white, sleeveless muscle shirt, ending at his chin. In his black jeans and hikers, he stood with his feet slightly apart as though expecting trouble, but his dangerously mean expression changed to one of happy surprise when he saw Mum.
"Kathleen! You came through!"
"Of course I did," Mum casually replied with a reassuring smile. "This is my son, Steven. Steven, this is my friend, Pitbull."
"Come on in and meet my grammie."
We followed him into the crowded living room of a rundown apartment with no curtains over the dirty windows, no pictures on the dingy, once white walls and a lot of boxes piled near the door. The rest of the stuff in the room looked like it came from other rooms, such as two disassembled beds, a dresser, two nightstands, a kitchen table and a bunch of other junk. It looked like moving day.
Near the kitchen door, in a wrecked Lazyboy, sat a little old woman who had to be at least ninety. The frail elder was watching a soap opera on a small TV as we approached.
"Her name's Agnes," Pitbull told us, adding, "She can't talk 'cause she had throat cancer a while back and you gotta raise your voice so she can hear, but she understands everything that's goin' on around her."
Mum bent over and greeted in a loud voice, "Hello, Agnes, my name is Kathleen, I'm very pleased to meet you."
The old woman showed a wide, toothless smile and offered her hand, nodding positively as Mum gingerly shook it, warmly taking her forearm in the physical gesture as well. I was struck at how easily she changed mannerisms depending on the person she dealt with as she then introduced me.
"Agnes, we're going to get this move done and you'll be relaxing in your nice new home before you know it," she went on after I released the woman's bony old hand. "Now, don't you worry, I'll be handling this whole thing, the boys will do as they're told and if your Landlady shows up, I'll deal with her, alright?"
Agnes nodded with the same smile and Mum gave her a quick peck on the cheek before straightening and addressing us.
"Right, let's not waste time. You two start with the big stuff, the couch and chair, mattresses and all that. I'll handle the small stuff. We'll get Agnes out when we're half done so she doesn't have to sit in an empty apartment without any of her familiar belongings around her. Come on, chop-chop, you two."
Under her direction, Pitbull and I soon had the first load ready to go. The end of the ratty, tan coloured, old tweed couch stuck out the back of the van about three feet, head and footboards also crammed in along with a chest of drawers, three nightstands and some rolled up carpets. Two mattresses and a box spring were loaded on the roof, on top of them a living room chair.
"Think it'll stay?" I asked him.
"Fuck do I know." He answered, looking up at it as curiously as I was.
"Language," Mum actually corrected, setting a box marked 'kitchen' on the floor ahead of the front passenger seat, cigarette held between her lips.
"Oh, sorry, Kathleen. I forgot. Just kind of a habit, you know?"
"That's alright. I think you two are ready to go with this load, though."
"Uh, Kathleen, I hate to ask, but do you have a spare smoke?"
"Sure," she said, reaching into her shirt to remove her package and hand it to him. "Just take those."
"The whole package?" he asked, looking inside.
"I have another one in my purse. You two go now and hurry back as fast as you can."
The chair did stay on, its destination being fairly close, and after we offloaded at their new apartment, this one not much nicer than the last, we headed back for another load, talking along the way.
"Your mum's right cool," he said, the second person to do so in as many days.
"She's different," I conceded. "How'd you two meet, anyway?"
"Yesterday at the liquor store, I asked her to go in for me 'cause I'm barred from that one."
" ... Oh."
"No, not there," he cautioned, waving me off from the narrow street I was about to turn down. "That's one way. Keep going and take your next left. ... So, how do you like Saint John? Big fuckin' change from Ottawa, I'll bet."
"Um, yeah, it sure is. I like it here."
"Really?" he asked, sounding surprised.
"It's a nice city. Total strangers actually look me in the eye as I'm walking down the sidewalk. At first it creeped the fuck out of me, but then I realized that people are a lot more open and friendly here."
"Yeah. Well, that's mostly true, but there's some dangerous people in this little city, too. People you want to avoid."
"I'm just gonna mind my own business anyway," I told him.
"Yeah, that works, especially around here. But if you're walking around the South end and somebody asks your name and stuff, just be cool and tell them 'cause they're only checkin' you out. Ask them if they know me and you'll be okay."
By the time we got back, I'd decided I liked Pitbull. After our second trip we were sweating like crazy, Mum taking a break from her brisk direction of the move to feed us water a couple times. I'd just gotten the television packed and Agnes was sitting in her chair on the sidewalk at that point after being helped down the stairs by Mum to go with the next load, when I heard a woman's raised voice. Looking around, I saw Pitbull speaking with a middle aged woman in front of the building's open door. Her hair was in curlers and she wore a pair of dark green, rayon slacks with a baggy, pea green shirt. She was the type that Mum would refer to as a frumpy old cow.
"Agnes!" the woman yelled around Pitbull, trying to step around him.
"Leave her alone, she doesn't have any money!"
"Well, she has enough to hire a fuckin' truck, doesn't she!? Agnes!"
She managed to get out and around him, the expression on the helpless ruffian's face similar to the one that was there when he answered his door to us earlier.