Real Dead Ringer for MombyPanzerFeck©
With special thanks to SaraLynn for your engaging, vivid, fun and creative back and forth. This one is especially for you!
It was the final week in August that year when a third heat wave gripped the small coastal town of Clasbridge. A sleepy town where sleep didn't come easy all of a sudden, nobody appreciated the irony. The sea wind – usually at a constant – had dropped. Now it was no more cooling or refreshing than a hot, stale breath after a bowl of steamed mussels. Every day in was hotter, muggier and made people a little harder to deal with!
These days budding young writer Stephen Hiller was old enough and seemingly responsible enough to be left alone at night while his mother, Brenda, and her unofficial other half, Greta, worked the night shift at the Middleton Hotel. This heat wave hadn't been too unkind to them.
The holiday-makers were thinning out and the swingers were too easily swung out in the heat. It afforded a reprise, at least, and not least the maids packed tightly into their neat uniforms as they raced from room to room, cleaning and changing beds.
Brenda often left Steven, who wrote better at night, to do his own thing while local work prospects weren't great. What would he do at the hotel – linen? That wasn't a man's job or a boy's. Whereas Steven was no boy anymore, there were jobs better suited to him that came along once in a while and she didn't see the harm in letting him enjoy his youth.
Brenda had started young, going into the workplace as soon as she turned sixteen. Looking back she regretted putting work before life. It had been hard for her to catch a break and circumstances weren't the kindest either. It was simply a case of giving her son something she never had.
But there was no shortage of pocket change to be made, which he did. One might be surprised at the secrets a hotelier was expected to keep, and so if the window cleaner, the car wash owner or the local convenience store proprietor needed an extra hand on deck, there was a call for cash in hand if he wanted it. But that's all there was these days – pocket change.
Otherwise doing odd jobs for the neighbours along the seasons, because the reputation he had built up from his early teenage years still went a long way, kept him in pocket. He wasn't expensive to keep, being that his favourite thing to do was his writing and that his favourite place to be were the fantastical worlds he built for himself.
His sci-fi and fantasy stories were great, she thought. While he was young and so talented and knew confidently what he wanted to do, she saw it best to let him aim for his dream and to see what he could make of himself. What could it hurt?
And already he was making a little money from his writing, which he had to declare to his mother, seeing as he needed her to teach him how to pay his taxes. But when she asked to read one of the stories now earning him some coin, he was aloof all of a sudden and made the excuse that it wasn't the kind of thing she'd want to read.
That was her literal reaction. Huh!
'My own son is now officially a published and paid novelist and he's hiding it from me, his mother; the woman who fed him, clothed him and raised him,' she explained to Greta one night as they stood behind the desk one evening. 'What do you make of that? What could possibly be so bad?'
'I'd say don't ask,' Greta said cautiously. 'It can't be anything illegal. Look at it that way. But he's a man after all. If he doesn't want you to know then there's probably a good reason behind it.' Greta said that last part with the slightest tremor, as though she had touched something dirty. Whatever was on her mind she couldn't bear the thought.
Two peas in a pod – that only half-explained Brenda and Greta's love life. They might not have been made for each other but they seemed so alike at times. They shared many of the same mannerisms and sentiments, but of course Greta took the lead when it came to making them known.
Otherwise they were chalk and cheese, good cop and bad cop!
At fifty six, with elfish grey hair and a boyish body, Greta was the older lover by ten years. She had discovered her true self later in life, but there was never any denying that she had always been different. There was nothing wrong with being different until it cost you your vocation. She was a school teacher once, which explained why she was still as assertive as she was nurturing. She was also still very bitter over that whole episode.
Why did life have to change so drastically? Not because she came out as gay, but because the men and women who didn't like her or the fact that she was gay, all united in a display of community spirit to pull the strings necessary to be done with her.
She wasn't innocent. She wasn't holier than anyone. But boy was she learned the art of the softer approach ever since the resulting bitterness, betrayal and depression. That played a part in how she charmed Steven's mother.
A wise mind was a rare thing in this life. Even rarer was such an unashamedly faulted heart to a point of confidence. She was direct but rarely wrong, something that captured Brenda and disarmed her habit of reluctance.
Brenda herself was, by mid-life standards, the sweetest, most caring and easily approachable ash blonde, comparably shaped by tragedy and weirdness. Her husband died young, along with Sandra who today would have been Steven's older sister, in a roadside collision. She was twenty-three and Steven was still in the womb.
The weirdness came from her own immediate family and namely her twin sister Belinda, the wild child, who had for over four decades done everything in her power not to be mistaken for an identical twin.
Considering that they weren't identical, they could be dead ringers if not the same woman living a double life, which wasn't the case.
As a result, Brenda had always been the mature, sensible and boring one of the family. But when she was with Greta, either they were identical in the sense that they were equally sensible and boring, staunch and competitive, or otherwise secretly daring and sexual; when the occasion demanded it.
When Greta first seduced her and turned her to the dark side, she was confused and yet so intensely in love, wildly remorseful and tremendously and curiously turned on. Never in her life had a woman charmed her so much and yet made her feel so at ease, only to turn on the hormones with all the devil's tricks up her sleeve and to make her want whatever the hell she was selling.
Roughly three years ago she had bought a whole damn life's supply. They never looked back unless it was together and in celebration of all things joyous and randy.
Still, it had taken Steven some getting used to. In fact things were never quite the same, but they had been alone so long that it was an adjustment for the both of them and still was. She never would have thought that he was actually jealous of Greta.
She didn't exactly have money back then. She certainly didn't have a big cock. She must have had a very persuasive hand, and mouth for that matter...
On the Monday Steven was drafted in to help his aunt Belinda redecorate her house. They were working day and night in this heat. Well, knowing her, she was watching Steven's butt work up and down the ladder and making cold drinks while he did all the work, which explained the sorry state he was in when he dropped by the Middleton one night to bring them some snacks on his aunt's behalf.
Late the Wednesday afternoon while Greta was preparing meals in the kitchen, Brenda's curiosity got the better of her and she found herself in her son's room, opening up his laptop and breaking and entering into his files.
The crafty little bastard! Steven had hidden a stash of PDA files in a picture gallery from a camping trip he went on a year ago. Brenda only found it by accident after giving up the search for his darkest literary secret. Boy did she get a surprise!
What started out as a tender and emotional drama between a fictional mother and son named Brenda and Steven who lived together alone in a familiar small town – and she was so proud of him the way he portrayed them both so vividly and colourfully and full of emotion - quickly transformed into a...
...seductive, steamy thriller of sorts where Steven confessed his love and sexual attraction to her!
'Oh Jesus, what is going on here?' Brenda begged of herself. She couldn't know for sure, she imagined, until she knew the whole story. The page counter said there were only about fifteen pages, so either it was unfinished or just another short story. She decided to read on while she had the time, even though she now continued with her heart in her throat.
By the time she was done she was such a mix of emotions and reactions, and such a hot and confused mess, that she could only sit there in silence, in the very office swivel chair that her son had sat to portray their torrid fictional sex affair.
How do I not overreact to this, she begged of herself. How do I go back to normality now that I know what I know? And his writing had been so effective, so masterful, that even though it was a taboo piece of fiction about the both of them having sex, she was damned if she didn't admit that his words and his imagination turned her on. And then she was certainly damned if she did admit it.
She scrolled back a few pages to one of the parts that had affected her so. That scene in particular was full of moments that had flipped the breaker switches between her wrenching heart and that hidden part of her lower abdomen where the tornado of the butterflies in her tummy left her well and truly devastated; that part which no son's mother had any business sharing with him.
"Steven looked to his mother for her approval, straining in all his aching wantonness to be with her, to be as close to her again as was humanly possible. Taking his hands in hers, she nodded, all the while captivating him with her loving gaze. He eased forward and slid into her, to be embraced and moulded by her sensuous liquid heat, and began to make the long and intense journey back to where he belonged; her womb..."
'He's ruining me,' she said trembling with both remorse and excitement, one caused by the other. 'I am utterly ruined.'
The next day, after so much stress put upon her powers of rationality, and after so little rest, she called her twin sister as soon as she had time alone.
'I need you here, now!' she cried.
It was the first time in so long that Brenda had done the emergency sit-down with Belinda. As she recalled very clearly, the last time was when she discovered that she was pregnant with Sandra. She didn't however recall that she was in fact a lot more scared back then, or that this instance was infinitely less likely to kill her than childbirth. It might just drive her insane instead.
They were out in the back garden. It was just after lunch time and Steven was still over at Belinda's house, now painting the kitchen. They were drinking ice tea, which may or may not have been laced with a little gin, or a lot.
Brenda was pale and tired looking, Belinda noticed. It better not have been terminal otherwise her opening line would fall flat on its stupid fat face. 'So, tell me all about the sexy vampire that bit you and did he give you his number?'
'I read a story that Steven wrote yesterday,' Brenda began guiltily. 'I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have been such a nosy mother. It was a sex story. It was about me and him. Steven's fantasising about me!'
'What do I do?' Brenda asked. 'How does this happen? Did I do something wrong?'
Belinda eyed her twin sister with wide eyes as though a light bulb had flickered to life over her head. Drink, she motioned with one hand while gulping down half of her own. Brenda did as commanded, almost like a voodoo puppet of some sort, or a zombie.
'Wow,' Belinda remarked, speechless for the first time since...
'Will you speak to me, woman? I'm going crazy here.'
'Okay first off this isn't a big deal. Boys fantasise about their mothers and you should come to realise that this is a good thing-
'Oh wow, please explain that one, Mrs Freud,' Brenda snapped.
'Chill, bitch,' Belinda snapped back and immediately lowered her own voice. 'The same happens with girls and their fathers, if you care or dare to think back hard enough? You're the blueprint to Steven's life compatibility list, in almost every way, because all mothers set the standard. All of his life you've given him everything that he needs to live and be happy, emotionally, intelligently and unconditionally. That explains the psychological shit...'
'I'm so glad I called you, professor,' Brenda scorned. 'But I don't buy it.'
'And as for looks you've still got it, sister,' Belinda continued regardless of the last remark. 'Like it or not, you probably shouldn't have read his private stuff. That's about the only thing I'd call wrong here, but by doing so you've discovered that your son is mentally healthy and sexually aware of himself-
'And me, his mother,' Belinda reminded sternly. 'At the age of twenty three, though?'
'How good was it, though?'
'Belinda,' Brenda scorned and looked away in disgust.
'Come on, lighten up. You always tell me how talented he is. Was it better than Fifty Shades?'
'Everything is better than Fifty Shades,' Steven's mother contested with a frown of distaste. 'Just assure me somehow, at the very least, that my son isn't going to turn into some sort of...'
'Can I read his story?' Belinda asked gingerly. There was a hint of mischief in her eyes. Her lips pouted the way they always did when she attempted a straight face when her brain's main directive was to laugh her little ass off.
'Absolutely not, no, no... No!'
"Okay so here it is. Please keep this to yourself. And delete it when you're done," read the email. By the time Belinda was done reading the story in its entirety, she was soaking fucking wet, her heart was pounding behind her breast and her clit was red and nearly raw with self-abuse.
He had such a talent for emotions, for description, for conveying feelings, Belinda realised feverishly. There was no way that boy wasn't a fucking sex god in the making. Either Brenda got off to this or she's now as sexually frustrated as she is terrified.
Composing herself, she visited the bathroom briefly to splash some cooling water on herself and then went down to check on Steven, who was now washing the emulsion brushes and just about ready to go home.
'You're done? Jesus that was some good work,' Belinda remarked, unaware of how flushed her cheeks, neck and chest were. Otherwise that might have explained the odd look Steven gave her, because she well and truly looked like a woman who'd just been vigorously masturbating.
'You know, I haven't asked recently,' she continued for small talk. 'How's the writing coming along? Your mom says you're a novelist now. When am I going to get to read your stuff? It'd better be something raunchy though.'
'Oh I only write fantasy stuff,' he dismissed with an innocent smile. Innocent my ass, she thought.
'If it isn't raunchy then it isn't fantasy, spoil sport,' she replied with a wink and then handed him the day's fifty dollars.
'Say, I haven't seen Sharon and Sean around all week,' Steven observed. 'Where are they?'
'They're on a camping trip for the week,' Belinda said.
'Oh, with friends?'
'No,' she said, feeling no need to have to explain. Her kids had always done everything together. They probably would continue to long after she was gone. Steven, momentarily at a loss, accepted the answer and its abruptness, before packing away the brushes for the next day.
'Okay so what's the plan?' Brenda enthused. The next day she had regained a little more of her colour and energy. She had certainly caught up on sleep. The fact that her fruity gin libation was twice the size this time proved something of an indicator as to how she had managed that.
Hopelessly Belinda shrugged and smirked. 'I have no fucking idea. What for?'
'How am I going to get this out of my son's system?'
'How would I know?'
'Because you went through the same thing with Sharon and Sean,' Brenda recalled confidently. 'How did you do it?'
A silence overcame the back garden. Even from behind her sunglasses, Brenda saw the shadow pass over her sister's eyes before she perked up and corrected her posture. But there was no ignoring the fact that she had hit a nerve.
'I never did anything!'
'What?' Brenda begged. Her mouth fell open. Was she hearing right?
'Would you believe that I realised that they'd have maybe done more damage sleeping around instead of fooling with each other? I did the most motherly thing I could,' she confessed. 'I sat them down for a long, awkward and uncomfortably unassuming talk, where I told them that what they were doing would ruin them in the eyes of others if they didn't keep a lid on it. And then I threw a mountain of condoms and lube and birth control options at them and said "good luck"!'
'You did wha...'
'I think that scared the worst out of them,' Belinda went off on one of her optimistic but ultimately clueless tangents. 'My God they were sleeping in the same bed every night. And when I say sleeping I mean having not so quiet sex. After that day though they "reigned it in". But what's done is done. And the honeymoon may be over but they still love each other a lot.'
'You are shitting me,' Brenda gawped. 'Sister, tell me that you are shitting me.'
'Judge me if you think being holy makes your own problems disappear,' Belinda said hurtfully. 'They love each other and I can't make them not love each other to appease the god of small minds. Why would I even come between my own family and stop them from loving each other? Out of love? I doubt that very much.'
'I don't know what to say,' Brenda croaked. 'I'm sorry?'
Suddenly Belinda moved like a woman truly scorned. She was up out of her deck chair and swiping the drink out of her hand, but beyond that she was as gentle as ever, like a furious gust of wind that could ruin your hair to spite your face and nothing else.
'Jesus Brenda, do you really want to know how to handle this?' she asked impatiently.
'Belinda,' Brenda cried.
'You're a goddamn novelty lesbian and you act so liberal but when it comes to facing what you perceive to be your problem, you become so stuck up,' Belinda criticised.
'Fuck you, you little brat,' Brenda reacted. 'Like you ever had a hold of the situation; you clearly just owned up to that. All you can do is rationalise everything like it's all justifiable in the end.'
'Whereas you just run away from men these days, including your son,' Belinda shot back. 'Have you even spoken to Steven since reading that story? What about before then?'
Whereas you just run at men, Brenda thought but bit her tongue. Then the tears began to fall and in an instant Belinda was the good sister again, by her side and holding her hand. 'No, I don't know how to face him anymore.'
'It's still normal you dork,' Belinda said affectionately, 'even if it scares you.'
'Your son doesn't want to bone you, thank you very much,' her uptight sister sobbed.
'Oh I'm sure he did want to at some point,' Belinda chuckled.
'What am I going to do?'
'Get it out of his system,' Belinda said plainly.
'I suppose,' Belinda said distantly and then smirked, 'I could always try and scare it out of his system for you. All depends how much you trust me...'
Brenda saw that smirk. She wasn't sure she trusted her sister at all.
Near 3AM Steven was finishing with his writing for the night and checked for messages before slumping into bed for the night. It might have seemed cruel. Belinda's idea did take Brenda aback when she first came up with a plan to scare him back into normalcy. What she didn't explain was that she had other designs for Steven that suited her own ends just as well.