Oedipal Homecoming

For several months, the house had felt empty, lifeless. Since Rick left for college, all Diane could do was mope around the house, trying to find meaning in her usual routine of cooking, cleaning, and watching mindless morning TV-shows, but, it was nothing like it used to.

Every day at about three in the afternoon her glance fell to the front door; and every single day her heart dropped to the floor, when the door remained shut and Rick did not storm into the house, his head filled with new knowledge and his stomach rumbling.

Now, it was only she and her husband—and their relationship had been strained for years, and only gotten worse since it'd been just the two of them.

Therefore, she was all too excitingly counting the days (and hours and minutes) for Rick to come home for the holidays. At the same time, she couldn't shred off the heart-wrenching feeling of dread; Rick hadn't contacted her for a long time and the few times she'd called, he was distant and cold—terrifyingly unlike him.

Had one semester been enough so drastically to change him? Back when he lived home, they talked all the time. Rick had never been distant, cold, never acted out, never...

She drew a deep breath—coughing from the strong rising steam—and stirred the pot; she'd almost driven herself insane pondering on what might have happened to her Ricky and how different his voice sounded over the phone.

It's nothing but him growing up, becoming the person he'll be for the rest of his life, she kept thinking during all the lonely hours of each day, and night.

Having never been to college—pregnant at seventeen and hastily married to her high-school boyfriend, who rejected a football scholarship to work at his father's garage—she could only imagine college's transformative powers and, consequently, her brain magnified everything to outrageous proportions.

She took the pot out of the fire and brewed coffee; about an hour till Dan came home and she blankly stared at the window, almost seeing Rick playing in the backyard, a happy—if a little too reserved—young boy.

Her biggest fear, in regards to college and Rick, was whether it was similar to high school (and junior high, and middle school, and...), but, without a principal to call her, without her being able to talk to other parents.

Rick, after all, was an adult now—in the eyes of the world at least—and no dean or professor would call her, if some jocks decided to pick on him. Perhaps, it was therefore Rick had sounded so cold on the phone; and wherefore he never called.

He didn't want her to know about him having a hard time; she sipped on her coffee and a couple of drops dropped on her apron.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, as countless tormenting thoughts raced through her mind regarding the hardships Rick could be facing, which forced him even deeper inside his cocoon, now that she wasn't around to help and support him.

The key hit the lock and she jumped up, somehow letting herself believe it was her son having come earlier to surprise her.

"Honey, I'm home," Dan said in his usual extravagant manner.

"Hey," she offered him a faint smile and coldly accepted his brief kiss. "How was your day?"

"Same old shit," he groaned, instantly dropping the act. "Dinner ready?"

"Yes," she nodded and moved slowly towards the kitchen.

Without exchanging another word, he took a seat while she served; they ate, in perfect silence, barely even glaring at each other.

Perhaps, Rick's homecoming would bring warmth back into their little house—especially since this could very well be the last Christmas they spent in it. Bank demanded their payments and Dan was perfectly incapable of making them; it was only a matter of time till a final notice arrived in their mailbox.

"What's wrong?" He raised his eyebrow, when she failed to drown a heavy sigh.

"Nothing, I'm just..."

"Stop worrying!" He cried in exasperation. "We'll figure it out, we'll...just, don't let Ricky see you like this, okay? Don't let him know we're having problems."

"How about his tuition fees? His..."

"We'll make it," he said sternly. "Things are bound to get better."

"When?" She retorted dryly. "I can't get a job; I tried, but...I've no experience, and I'm too old for..."

"You've been looking for work?" His eyes almost popped out of their sockets and his fork clanked loudly against the plate.

"Of course I have!" She protested. "A second paycheck would certainly help!"

"I told you," he bit the corner of his lips and clenched his fists, "I don't want you working; there's no need for that. We'll do okay, I promise. Business will pick up; things are getting better, we'll be back on our feet in no time.

"This is just a rough patch."

"It's been a rough patch for quite a while now..."

"I'm going to my office, to work," he announced coldly.

She watched him storm out askance; she buried her face in her palms and struggled not to scream.

Nothing else to do, hence she did the dishes, hardly feeling the scorching water.

Rick's homecoming would fix things; it was the one thing she had left to believe in.

* * * *

Day had finally come and Diane simply couldn't sit still even for a fraction of a second; too much to do, it felt, as she kept wiping the furniture's surfaces, rearranging various decorative items, and, in general, paced to and fro while constantly glaring at the clock.

With Dan at work, she'd have ample time properly to talk with Rick—like they always did. The clock had seemingly frozen, each minute felt like a damn century.

The sound of an idle car engine stirred her up and she rushed to the door; her jaw dropped to the ground, when she first laid eyes on Rick.

Almost didn't recognize her own son, when he waved at her with a bright smile; much leaner, modern hip clothes, muscled up...and in his eyes she saw a glint of happiness, and something undecipherable, she never had encountered before.

Partly, she rejoiced; she hugged him tightly and planted kisses all over his face, before inspecting him carefully. In some deep, nearly subconscious, level, she was horrified of the changes. Especially the faint, yet discernible to her investigative glance, redness on his nose.

"How are you, mom?" He asked, clearly impatient to get inside.

"Now that you're here, I'm good!" She grinned. "Your room's untouched, by the way."

"Great," he winked.

Momentarily alone in the living room, she scratched the back of her neck, desperately attempting to wrap her head around the changes Rick had seemingly undergone.

She rubbed her closed eyelids, desperate to stop thinking about it; two weeks were plenty of time to learn everything about college, about what's going on in his life. No reason to ruin the joyous moment with wild speculation.

"So," he asked, when they sat in the kitchen—she with a cup of coffee, he with a glass of wine— "how are things here, mom?"

"Pretty much as you know them, honey," she sighed heavily and a sharp needle went through her heart momentarily, when he chugged his glass down and instantly refilled it. "Since when did you..." She couldn't finish the sentence, just pointed at the rapidly emptying glass.

"Oh, you know...college and all; I just enjoy the taste once in a while, that's all," he shrugged inconspicuously and, with a faintly trembling hand, put the dry glass down.

"So, how's college?" She ran her fingers through her hair and cleared her throat.

"Good," he said sharply.

"That's it?" She asked, befuddled. "Good?"

"What else is there to say?" He shrugged and refilled his glass to the very top. "I mean...it's college. Going to classes, some partying in the weekends...yeah, it's good.

"Things are all right here?"

"Nothing's changed." She lowered her glance and dug her nails in her jeans, suddenly fearful he knew of their dire situation.

With just a nod as response, he tilted his head back and the wine glided down his throat; in near horror, she observed him smacking his lips with bright satisfaction, as he slammed the empty glass on the table.

"So, what are we eating tonight?"

"Veal," she smiled, as she flipped the frying ribs. "Thought I should make something special!"

"Special?"

Her heart sank to her stomach, when she noticed his bewilderment.

"Yeah, well...now you're not around," she attempted to explain, "we're trying to eat a bit more...healthy, you know?"

"Healthy," he rebuked hoarsely, "or, frugal?"

"What are you talking about?" She asked, wishing for a way to prevent her lower lip from twitching.

"Never mind," he shook his head. "Got any more wine?" He asked, his head buried inside the refrigerator.

"Why don't you wait till dinner? One pre-dinner bottle ought to be enough; don't you think?"

"Just one more glass, to...work up an appetite. That's all," he shrugged and masterfully cracked the bottle open. "Not big on wine, huh?" He chuckled, rather dryly, and held the bottle up.

"Why?" She asked, curiously.

"Most bland, drugstore wine I've seen," he retorted simply and stole a sip out of the bottle. "Tastes almost as bad as the box-wine my roommate buys—he's quite the deadbeat.

"Almost didn't get a student loan, due to his father's credit history."

She swallowed down loudly, keeping her eyes glued to the steaks; did Rick...know, or, even suspect?

Dread swarming her heart, she remained perfectly silent, choking down all comments regarding the speed, and ease, with which Rick drained the second bottle.

Dinner went by very slow and rather uneventfully—Rick polished two more bottles off and by the end of the dinner, his nose having turned scarlet, he stumbled on his words, and, when time came to excuse himself to go to the bathroom, he staggered out of the kitchen.

"Did he really just drink almost two bottles on his own?" Dan asked, dumbfounded.

"Yeah," she sighed heavily—glad she'd thrown the other two bottles away. "Just wanted to relax from the trip, I guess."

"Two bottles..." Dan said under his breath. "I should have a talk with him!"

"Not now." She grabbed his arm and pushed him back down on the chair. "Let him get some rest, clear his head up."

"Fine," he exasperated. "But, I think..."

"He's just blowing some steam off, that's all."

"You've always defended him; even when, as a teenager, he spent all his time in front of his damn computer."

"And you always told him to get away from his computer, go out, have fun, work out."

He didn't rebuke.

He jumped up, when his phone rang and walked out of the kitchen to answer it—probably a collection agency, she thought and her heart sank in her stomach.

The rest of the evening went by business as usual; Dan in his small office trying to figure out a way to improve their financial situation, and Diana seeking solace, and few moments of peace of mind, in the TV.

Rick being locked up in his room also felt a lot like old times; difference, naturally, being him sleeping a buzz off, instead of playing video games.

Time came for bed and Rick had still not come out of his room; she fought her worries off and lay down next to Dan, who snored softly, and stared into the darkness.

* * * *

Dead of the night and sleep simply refused to come; numb and tired of spinning around, she got up.

Momentarily, she froze in front of Rick's half-open door; a quick peek and it appeared empty under the bright laptop screen. What, however, made her heart jump up in her throat was the paused image on the screen.

Hesitantly, and while constantly glaring about, she took a step closer and had a clearer glimpse of the porn video of a mature woman on her knees between two younger, hung, guys.

She gulped and stepped away, not wishing to be caught spying—she hardly noticed the empty bottle of wine standing next to the laptop.

Light came out of the kitchen and she froze; fleetingly, her mind wandered back to that image on the screen and her heart fluttered.

She leaned on the wall and, just like a trainee spy, peeked behind the door; Rick was crouched next to the sink, almost half his body inside the closet wherein they hid all the liquor bottles they'd accumulated from way back when they still invited guests over and had a social life.

Her jaw dropped to the floor and she pressed her hand against her mouth, when he stood up and turned about.

She stared at her son's chiseled body; her lips twitched and her face turned crimson, when her gaze moved down to his semi-hard organ that seemed more than twice the size of his father's.

Unable to help herself, she watched him uncork the bottle—involuntarily eyeballing his dong pressed against the counter. Her heart pounded all too hard, knowing just how plain wrong it was getting all worked up.

He popped the cork and it was that moment she knew she either had to rush away, or, enter the kitchen as inconspicuously as possible.

"Wow," he exclaimed and straightened up his back, "hey, mom. Hair of the dog," he shrugged, and lifted the bottle.

"Right," she cleared her throat, desperate to maintain eye-contact and not to blush. "Just wanted some water," she explained.

"Thought you were both asleep," he said simply. "That's why..."

"It's all right," she bit the corner of her lips and poured a glass of water—unable to stop glaring, through the corner of her eye, at Rick's nakedness.

"Is everything okay?" He asked tenderly.

Shivers traversed her body, when he placed his hand gently on her shoulder.

"Yes," she nodded.

"How about some wine?" He grinned. "Will help you sleep much better than water."

"I don't...sure, one glass," she resigned and glimpsed at the door.

"In all honesty," he said, pouring wine, "I've always suffered from insomnia...discovered that wine—alcohol, in general—really helps with it."

She sat opposite him and crossed her legs high, suddenly all too conscious of both how high her nightgown had risen and his eyeballing her legs and cleavage.

She had a sip of wine, hoping it'd quench the fire raging under her skin.

"It's not really a solution, you know," she finally said, struggling to keep her glare upwards, as he sat with his legs spread, his now fully erect dong seemingly inviting her to...

"Well," he said, effectively putting a shortlived break to her impure thoughts, "maybe not, but, it works. You'll see," he winked and his wide grin caused her back to stiffen.

Where was the timid, slightly nerdy kid? In front of her sat a confident young man, who only partly looked like her son.

Of course, deep down she was glad he looked happier than ever; yet, she couldn't help but wonder whether these drastic, near damn impossible, changes in him were the reason behind her utterly wrong thoughts.

"You know," he added, after a generous gulp of wine, "it seems almost...unfair, me being naked and you...all dressed up, I mean..."

"Rick," she barked—taken aback by the sharpness of her voice.

"Just a bad joke, mom," he chuckled, raising his open hands.

"You've been working out, I see," she coughed the hoarseness out of her voice and her face turned scarlet.

"Yeah," he nodded. "My roommate's a football player, got a scholarship and all, so...he always works out and, well, he at first practically forced me to join him. Eventually, I not only liked it, but, loved it.

"So, yeah..." He shrugged and ran his fingers through his abs—meaningfully lowering his hand down to his pelvis.

She licked her lips slowly—and instantly her face turned crimson.

With an even wider grin, he wrapped his hand around his turgid member and gently twirled it, before pulling the foreskin down, exposing the dark purple, and thick, mushroom head.

Was it really happening? Was this just a twisted, yet all too enthralling, dream?

Taken by surprise, she tilted forth, her lips half-open; with two fingers she wiped the drool running down her chin, while her mind raced uncontrollably.

It is wrong; fucking wrong—a tiny voice repeated in her head.

Driven by lust—fueled by years of drought—she got down on her knees, to Rick's visible delight.

The first lick was salty; perhaps, that was how the forbidden fruit tasted, too.

She lifted her glance and smirked at Rick's rather astonished expression; still not entirely certain of what she was doing, or wherefore, she ran her tongue across her son's rod, from base till head.

She ran her nails softly across his thighs, as she arched her back and wrapped her lips around the mushroom head; her toes curled, when his hand went through her long hair and pushed her down on him.

It felt like the point of no return; up until the moment she had him balls deep down her throat, she frankly believed it was all teasing and nothing more. Just some forbidden fun that would lead nowhere.

Now—his balls resting on her chin, while she slapped his thighs begging for air—there was no coming back.

She panted heavily, drooling all over his crotch, when he finally let her up; she raised her teary eyes and met his illumined gaze that warmed her drumming heart.

She stroked him with both hands, feeling the skin getting slipperier under her palms, while she swirled her tongue around the twitching head—still incapable of fathoming the fact it was her son's taste flooding her mouth.

"Shit, mom," he grunted, when she took over the rhythm and bobbed her head, her hands following her lips, "you're...really good at it. I mean..."

It felt as if his cock was punching her heart, which had taken permanent residence in her throat.

The sound of the word mom, while she was on her knees with his member in her mouth, had a bizarrely tingling effect and she moved faster.

She massaged his swollen balls and gagged, only occasionally stealing glimpses of the door; she squirmed lightly, when he pulled the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders and it fell to her waist, exposing her still firm breasts.

His shaft drowned the moans that wished to escape her lips, when he fondled her tits.

She writhed, as shivers went up her spine under the soft pinching of her erect nipples; her lips closed tight around his shaft and she relaxed her throat.

With a huge grin—which she deep down knew how wrong it was—she buried his dong between her breasts and licked her lips slowly, and all too meaningfully, while staring deep into his beaming eyes.

First time ever and she was mesmerized by how good the throbbing meat gliding between her breasts felt.

She gasped, when he pinned her down; she stared at him aghast and her toes curled, when he took a firm grip of her breasts and pounded them, his balls slapping against her tits.

It was an unprecedented euphoria flowing through her veins—pinned down against the hard, cold tiles, while a cock moved fast and hard against her sternum. Momentarily, it didn't even matter it was her son sitting on her chest.

She opened her mouth, warmly welcoming the head with her tongue, as it thrust forth; she squirmed and grunted, when he squeezed her tits even harder.

"Fuck, I..." He groaned and slowed down; the friction of skin on skin felt even more intense, lighting a fire in her body.

She gasped—and feared they might have woken Dan up—when he jerked her head up by the hair and shoved his prick back in her mouth.

Her eyes goggled, when the head throbbed and cum flooded her throat.

His lower back jerked, as the final drops of cum leaked out of his cannon, and she sucked noisily, tears rolling down her eyes, hungrily swallowing it down.

"Damn it, mom, that..." He panted, as he sat beside her. "I didn't think I could come this quick, this..."

"You better get some sleep, honey," she smiled and kissed him on the cheek, before fixing her nightgown.