Needs and Weeds

"Yes, he helped me pull weeds."

Turning toward Marty, Jim said, "She paid you, I hope." Pause. "Just a joke, dude," he added after catching Marty's pregnant look, a cross between fear and incredulity. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine but I gotta go. See you at practice."

Jim watched Marty make a quick exit, then approached Francis. "Did he act that weird with you?"

She feigned insouciance. "Weird? I didn't really notice. He kept busy pulling weeds."

Jim nodded and followed her into the house, a brick, suburban split-level. Frances washed some remaining dishes in the sink, while Jim grabbed an apple from the fridge, then plopped down at the kitchen, legs akimbo. After consuming a few bites, he said, "Mom, you didn't by any chance mention to Marty what we did, did you?"

She spun around. "Absolutely not! Why would you ask such a thing?"

Jim took another bite, then said, "No reason. It's just that he acted so weird, like I said."

"Well, weird or not, what happens in this house stays in this house." She glared at him for a few seconds before returning to her dishes.

"He thinks you're hot," he said, licking his fingers as he ate. "You must know that."

"Lots of men think I'm hot, including you."

"Guilty as charged, especially when I catch you bending over, wearing no panties."

She turned around once again. Ignoring his comment, she said, "You know, Jim, I'm suddenly compelled to ask you the same question. Does Marty know what we did vis-à-vis your usual braggadocio?"

Jim's bashful silence gave him away.

"You did, didn't you?" She threw her dishtowel on the granite countertop. "Why? Why would you go telling anyone the intimate goings on around here? There's archaic laws on the books that could get us locked up for what we did. And even if there wasn't, some things you just don't tell."

He explained why, how he couldn't hold it in any longer, how he needed to confide in someone, and how Marty was one of the few, perhaps the only one he could trust. "He's a guy who can keep his mouth shut."

Frances knew he was right, for no amount of prodding could get Marty to admit that Jim had said anything, even though Frances had all but guessed he did. It gave her a measure of security, for she didn't want Marty telling Jim or anyone else about what took place just minutes ago.

She stepped over to where he was sitting, stooped down and clasped his face in her hands. "Okay, I understand. Just don't go telling anyone else, okay?"

"Not to worry, mom. Marty's the only one who will ever know." He lowered his eyes. "No panties, I see. Wow!"

"You like?"

"I like."

She stood up, lifted her dress to her waist and began to rub her pussy. The sex with Marty hadn't dampened her ardor any. In fact, it made her crave more. "Ohmygod, honey, I'm on fire again. Just take a gander at my gushing vagina and swollen clit, which I could rub to orgasm but would much prefer my son to do the honors, to make me dizzy and bring me to climax as only he knows how." She straddled his lap and proceeded to hump him. "I hope you don't mind if I stain your new jeans."

He shook his head and slipped his hands inside her dress, fondling her boobs. "Stain them all you want, mom."

"Good." She dry humped him some more, got him rock-hard and breathing as if he'd run a mile. She then slid off his lap and said, "Now take them off and meet me in the bedroom. This cougar is on the prowl."