Satyrday Morning Pt. 01

"Ha," he said. "I asked Anaya out again tonight. And she turned me down again."

"I like Anaya," Isabel said. "She is very pretty." She turned towards him, full breast pressing into his arm. "Not as pretty as you are, though, mi vida." She kissed his cheek softly, and Owen could see her other hand creeping lower. It caressed her flat stomach, paused at the waistband of her panties, then plunged under, fingers seeking out the slit of her sex.

Suddenly Owen was very aware of his mother's warm body next to his. His cock stirred and lengthened, growing down the length of his thigh. Their eyes met, hers shining brightly with desire.

He rolled off the trunk, eyes wide. "Mama, I think you've had a little too much to drink. How about we go inside and go to bed? I've got to be at work at ten o'clock. Oh, by the way," he added. "One of the drivers got fired tonight, and I'm taking a day shift tomorrow, so I can be here when Samara visits for supper tomorrow night."

Isabel sat up, cheeks flaming in embarrassment. What had she been thinking? Somehow, it had seemed so right, to snuggle close to her son, so handsome, so strong. Hands shaking, she zipped up her slacks, ignoring the urgent ache in her belly, the warm glow in her breasts.

"Will you?" she said. "Good. What time will you be home? I am making empanadas."

"Mmmmmm," Owen smiled. "Sounds awesome. I should be home by seven thirty by the latest."

"It will be nice to have a night at home, just the three of us." Isabel said happily. "Me and my pequenos. Just like old times. Well, four," she amended, "If Samara brings her novio. But it will be good to be together again."

Together they walked inside, neither one noticing the soft glow being emitted by the bracelet, or the silent watcher, hair dark and eyes laughing, in the shadows across the street.

* * * * *

Owen showered quickly, then lay in bed, in the small room which was his own, just down the hall from his mother. He tossed and turned on his old mattress and box-spring, but could not get comfortable. His thoughts kept returning to that fevered instant when her lips had been on his cheek, and her fingers dancing near the petals of her sex.

It doesn't mean a damn thing, he thought. She was drunk and thinking of Dad. She hasn't gone out with anyone since he died. Owen had tried to encourage Isabel to go out and find another husband, or at least a boyfriend, until his sister had forcibly dissuaded him from the idea. His lips twitched at the memory.

"Listen to me, dumb-ass," Samara said, black eyes glinting with anger. "If I hear one more time that you've been pressuring Mom to find another guy, I'm going to drive all the way home from Cedar Rapids and plant my shoe so far up your butt you'll be spitting leather. You got me?"

That had been over a year ago, and Owen hadn't mentioned the subject since.

His hand strayed to his cock and scratched, fingers digging deep into the sensitive flesh of his rod. He cursed softly, as his fingers brought no relief, the maddening itch continuing. The last thing he needed was an allergic reaction in the middle of summer, when everything was hot and sticky. Owen was terribly allergic to pine sap and sawdust, and every time he was exposed certain parts of his body swelled viciously, fluid collecting in strange areas. The last time had been several weeks ago, when he had helped put up a fence for a neighbor in exchange for fifty bucks and a used mower. He could still recall how his face had expanded (it seemed) to the size of a basketball, and the itching and flaking skin that had resulted afterward.

When he wasn't careful, the sap could get on his crotch as well, and the irritation to that most sensitive of organs could damn near drive a guy crazy. Turning on his bedside lamp, he pulled down his boxers and checked out his dick.

Well, it does look swollen, he thought disgustedly. God knows how I got exposed. But the itching isn't as bad as it was Christmas before last. That had been a bad one. Samara had insisted they put up a real Christmas tree, and he hadn't been quite careful enough. The itching had brought on a state of near-constant arousal that no amount of masturbation could cure, even if spanking it didn't make the problem any worse. He had ended up sitting in his bedroom alone for nearly two days, with an icepack on his crotch for nearly the entire time.

Thank goodness Sam had already left for home by then.

He turned off the light and drifted into a fitful sleep.

* * * * *

Isabel Howard woke the next morning, horny and frustrated.

Her dreams had been strange ones, foggy and out of focus, steeped in desire. Throughout the night there was one constant. Her son, Owen.

He was always there, holding her, protecting her, caring for her, his strong young body fitting so well against hers it was as if they were made for each other.

Just like it was with Gary, she thought. Mi amor was not so smart, but he made me happy in bed.

She sighed, remembering her husband's touch. It had been too long since she had a man. Maybe my Owen is right. Maybe I should start looking again. Her lip trembled. When he leaves I do not want to be alone.

She peeled off the long t-shirt she wore to bed and examined her body. Am I still attractive? Will a man look at me? Cuarenta y dos anos....Where had her life gone?

She still looked good, she thought. Her long dark hair was untouched by gray and her skin was tight over her slender bones. Her breasts sagged slightly, but no more than most women her age, and a lot less than most.

And I have more to be proud of as well, she thought wickedly, cradling them in her palms. Despite her words to Owen last night, her brown belly was flat until it reached the gentle rise of her pubis, and hard work around the house kept her legs strong and lean. She frowned as she ran her hands down her calves, feeling stubble.

That will have to go, she thought. She eyed the dense black patch of hair at her groin. And that, too. If I am going to go looking for a man I will need to have my legs smooth and my mound trimmed.

She glanced at the clock. Nearly nine. Time to get dressed and make breakfast for her son. She slipped on her panties and a loose pair of shorts and walked barefoot out of the room.

To hell with the bra. It's too hot today and I'm not going anywhere.

She was about to pass by Owen's closed doorway when she was hit by a wave of lust and desire so fierce that it felt like she was drowning. She bit her lip between her teeth and moaned as the walls of her vagina moistened, the petals of her sex slowly unfurling. She braced herself against the cheap paneling of the hallway, legs shaking, fighting against the urge to strip off her clothes and give her body to her son. She pictured him, laying in bed, sweet and innocent and sexy, his pale skin glowing in the morning light. Her hand slipped under her shirt and gently kneaded the warm mound of her breast, nipple tightening in response to her arousal.

She heard a rattle, and was barely able to snatch her hand away before the door opened, Owen standing blinking in the doorway. He was wearing a beige pair of slacks and a red polo shirt with "Mama Juliana's" stitched on the chest. His white work hat was in one hand, and the copper bracelet was still looped around his wrist.

He smiled at her. "Good morning, Mama"

She smiled back, hoping her burning guilt (Fantasizing! About your own son! Filthy harlot!) was not written on her face for him to read. "Good morning, mi vida. What would like like for breakfast?"

Owen wiped moisture off his upper lip. "Something cool. It's too hot for anything else. I swear, Mama, when I am done with college and I get a good job, I will have central air put in this place so you don't spend every summer sweating to death."

Isabel walked down the hall, hips swaying alluringly as he followed her into the kitchen. "But it is very enjoyable sometimes, too. I remember when your Papa and I first moved in here. At night we would sit around with no clothes on at all, and we would make love almost every night." She sighed happily as she sliced a bowl of fruit. "That was how Samara was planted in my belly. I still remember how hot we were that evening. We made love, then took a cool shower together, then made love again. It was wonderful."

Owen choked on a slice of apple. What the hell? His mother had never, ever talked about her sex life with him before. Now she was mentioning it as casually as she would a chance meeting with one of her girlfriends.

He carefully took a swallow of juice, "Mama, are you feeling all right? You're not dizzy, or, or light-headed, are you?"

She patted his hand as she sat beside him. "What a sweet boy you are. No darling, I feel fine." She leaned over to steal a slice of papaya off his plate and ate it slowly, tongue licking the juice off her fingers. She cradled her head in her hands, elbows on the table, the neck of her t-shirt gaping open, allowing him to see deep into her cleavage. "Why do you ask?"

Owen fumbled for an answer. "It's just that it's been so hot lately. I was worried you might have heat-stroke, or something." Like a real stroke. Or brain cancer, making you act all crazy.

She smiled cheerfully at him. "No, I am perfectly well. More than well. Her thumb stroked his knuckles. "Are you sure you have to go to work this morning?"

He snorted a laugh, mistaking her meaning. "After Anaya fired Darren for calling in to go to some bullshit Scientology meeting? If I tried to make an excuse she would have my head on a plate, and I would deserve it." He glanced at the clock and hurriedly finished his juice. "And I've got to go. I promised her I would be there by ten to help with the prep work."

He stood and grabbed his keys off the counter. He stooped to kiss his mother on the cheek, but she moved her head and caught his mouth with hers, her arms winding around him.

Her mouth was incredibly soft, lips rubbing against his sensuously. Before he could tear himself free, he felt her tongue lick his lips, asking for entry.

"Gottagobye!" he said hurriedly and sprinted out the door. He jumped into his old Sunfire and backed out of the driveway, waving at Isabel as he roared off down the street, not seeing the tears rolling down her cheeks.

* * * * *

Blessed Mother, what am I doing? Isabel staggered sightlessly into the living room and collapsed on the couch. This is sinful. Evil. Her hands clenched as she fought for control of her surging emotions.

But was it so wrong? a wicked corner of her mind asked. Who would be better to love you, than your own sweet boy?

He doesn't want me, she replied hopelessly, her moist cleft throbbing with unfulfilled need. Didn't you see how he ran away when I kissed him? I am an old lady and he wants a woman his own age.

Then you will have to show him what he wants. He is a young man, isn't he? All young men want sex. Take his sweet cock in your mouth as soon as he gets home tonight and...

"No!" she shouted, her voice ringing through the clean, shabby room. She stood up, eyes blazing. "This is not who I am!"

Ignoring the musk of desire wafting up from the junction of her thighs, she said softly, "I am going to clean the house. I am going to do laundry. Then I am going to make supper for my son and daughter and her novio.

"I am not," she said softly, almost making herself believe it, "going to make love to my son."

* * * * *

As soon as he was away from his house, Owen called his sister.

On the fourth ring, she picked up, mumbling, "This better be important, Owen. Charlie and I were out late last night."

"Sam, have you noticed anything strange about Mama lately? Like when you are on the phone with her? I'm worried."

"What?" she said loudly, all trace of sleepiness gone. "What are you talking about?"

"It's just...the last few days she has been acting kind of strange. Odd. Not like herself. And I know when people...get sick...sometimes they act different."

"So what is she doing that's got you so worked up?" Samara asked. "Is she falling down? Clumsy? If she had..." her voice faltered, trembling, then firmed, "If she had a stroke or something, she would probably have some weak muscles, especially in her arms and face. Or her legs."

"No, nothing like that."

"So what the hell is she doing that has you calling me at nine-fifteen on a Saturday morning?" she asked, obviously frustrated.

She's going to kill me.

"She was talking to me. Talking about sex. About her and Papa." And she unzipped her pants in front of me, he did not add. And tried to french me in the kitchen, he did not finish.

Samara laughed loudly in his ear. "So she is finally talking to you about sex, huh? It's about time. We've been having talks like that for years. She probably didn't know how to approach the subject with you, being a guy and all. I'm glad she's finally treating you like an adult."

Her voice lowered. "Listen, Owen. I wouldn't worry about it. Just because Mama felt comfortable enough around you to talk about how her and Papa got it on doesn't mean she has a brain tumor. You've just reached a different point in your relationship. And that's a good thing.

"Now I gotta go. You woke me up from a nice sexy dream and I am feeling horny. So I am going to wake Charlie up and do it with him two or three times before we leave for Des Moines."

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU LALALALALA!!" Owen shouted into the phone. He hung up, ignoring the laughter from the other end.

She's probably right, he thought. We've been living in the same house for twenty-two years. There's no reason she shouldn't be able to talk about her sex life.

And stick her hand down her pants in front of you? I noticed you didn't mention that to Sam. Or the kiss.

"Shut up," he said firmly, and drove to work.

* * * * *

Anaya wasn't there when he arrived, but he had a key to the store and let himself in and turned on the lights. Working quickly, he set up the prep line, pulled the pre-made dough out of the cooler, and started working on the vegetables, using the rotary knife to cut up piles of onions and green peppers. It was nice to be able to work in peace and quiet for a change, and he turned on the inside radio so he could listen to some music.

And I get to choose the station this time, he thought, feeling smug.

Anaya came in a few minutes after ten, sipping on a cup of coffee. She nodded approvingly at the work he had done. "I hope you have already clocked in. I don't want to cheat you out of any pay."

"First thing I did when I got here," Owen replied.

Anaya nodded. "Good. We've got a kid's birthday party that we are catering. That needs to be ready by one o'clock. Since you came in early, I'm giving that to you. If anyone bitches about it they can deal with me. And I am sure we'll have people calling in for graduation parties." She stepped closer to him. "I know I didn't say so last night, but I really appreciate you taking the shift today. If you hadn't, we'd be screwed."

Owen shrugged, embarrassed. "It's OK. Me and my mother need the extra cash, anyway."

She smiled and stepped away, then wrinkled her brows, looking at his wrist. "Where did you get that bracelet? I've never seen you wear it before."

"This?" Owen laughed. "You'll never believe it, but a girl gave that to me when I rescued her from a group of drunk-ass teenagers last night at the grocery store." He told her the story of meeting Phoebe, leaving out some of the odder details.

Anaya's eyes warmed and she looked at him admiringly. "Actually, Owen, I don't have any trouble believing it at all." She touched his face softly with her hand. "I know who I would want with me if I was in trouble." She shook herself and moved away, walking towards the prep station.

"I'm going to slap out some dough for those pizzas for the party. Turn on the phones at eleven. Titus and Lily should be in by then, and you'll have Keith and Stephanie as drivers."

"Will do," he said, and wandered to the back to fold boxes.

* * * * *

Fifteen minutes later he had a stack of boxes ready to go for the day and he had to take a leak. He ducked into the bathroom, locked the door, and pulled down his khakis.

Still swollen, he thought, fingering the itching flesh of his cock gingerly as he urinated. But not too bad. Wouldn't hurt to take some medicine for it, though. You should have done that before you left home.

Anaya was in the office, doing paperwork, when he came in. "Do we have any of that antihistamine that I brought in the last time I had an allergic reaction? I may need a dose."

Anaya looked up. "Did you manage to walk through a pile of pine dust again?" she asked, amusement in her voice. "Check out the bottom drawer. All the drugs are in there."

Owen bent over and sifted through the half-empty boxes of cough drops and cold medicine. Behind him, Anaya admired his ass. He's the only man I've never known who could work at a pizza place and not gain weight, she thought. He takes good care of himself.

And he takes care of other people, too. Charging into a gang of dirtballs to help out a girl he didn't even know? How many people would do that for you, Anaya?

"Can't find it," Owen said. "Dang it. I just want to make sure I don't get all swole up."

"Let me take a look at you," she said. She stood and took his face in her hands, fingers prodding the skin around the eye sockets and nose, testing for fluid. After she was done she stood still, hands cradling his face, thumbtips softly stroking the strong lines of his cheekbones.

Beautiful, too. Why do some women insist that a man can't be lovely? With that dark hair and his brown eyes and his soft golden skin, he is as gorgeous as any man I've known.

He's not a loser, Anaya. He's a winner. He held his family together, takes care of his mother, and is fighting to make a future for himself. You should admire him.

I do. I honestly do. Is it possible to fall in love and not even know it?

"I can't see any difference," she said, voice slightly hoarse. "What makes you think you're having a reaction?"

Owen blushed and closed his eyes. "It wasn't my face. There are other...areas that are effected when I have a reaction."

"Really?" she asked, edging closer. Her mouth quirked in tiny smile. "What area would that be?" Inside her black lace bra her nipples crinkled, surging erect. Her lips parted in a breathless moan. She closed the last few inches between them, their thighs brushing together, her breasts touching his chest.

He looked down at her and met her eyes firmly. "My dick," he said, and lowered his mouth to hers.

When Owen kissed her, he was sure that he was going to get punched in the face and fired, or, at best, slapped until his head rang. He had spent years coming on to Anaya, and had been rejected every time. Over the last few months his requests for dates had been more of a habit than anything else.

Which was why her reaction stunned him.

As soon as their lips touched, Anaya moaned into his mouth and her hands snaked around his waist, fingers digging into his ass. Her mouth opened under his and her tongue invaded his mouth, the agile flesh licking his lips, his teeth, his tongue.

He quickly he found himself pressed up against the wall of the office as she yanked his shirt out of his pants, mouth dipping to nip at the skin of his belly, his chest.