Shopping Day

Sunset at the beach was seaweed and sand flies. There wasn't much wind so the stink of decaying mountains of dry kelp hung heavy. But the sound of the waves was welcome and soothing. I could close my mind to everything else and let that sound take me far from the here and now.

Mom had been a long while. I hadn't checked the time when she went into the toilet and shower block, but if she didn't come out soon, she'd be coming out in the dark. I tried to stop myself from staring at the sad, squat building. Staring wouldn't make her come out sooner. Or later. I wasn't sure which I was hoping for.

Then there she was. She looked only at the ground as she ambled slowly up the path, and that told me everything. The blood rushed to my ears for at least the third time that day. I had to sit. The bench wobbled as I came down too hard on it. I breathed. I just focused on breathing. For a moment I thought she was going to ignore me entirely and get in the van and lock the doors with me outside. Maybe she had contemplated exactly that, then changed her mind. Her feet seemed to lead her toward me and she followed them. She sat on the bench next to me. She said nothing. And that too, said everything.

Eventually she pulled the white paper bag out of her duffel and upended it on my lap.

The pink First Response box tumbled off my knees onto the dirt, along with not one but three white plastic sticks -- along with another box still in plastic wrap, and a bottle of apple-flavored shampoo. She'd peed on all the sticks, and fate had decided to show all three face-up. Three plus-signs.

She stood up and walked to the van like a zombie. I picked up the pregnancy tests and put them back in their box. I picked up the other box. It wasn't full of pregnancy tests. It said "Trojan". It was a six-pack of condoms.

She opened the back of the van and got in. Instead of following, I watched the sea and thought of nothing, as hard as I could. It got dark sooner than I wanted. The sound of the waves and screaming gulls was undercut by the gut-wrenching sound of Mom trying and failing to silence her sobs. Eventually, all I could do was go to her.

I crawled onto the incriminating mattress and closed the doors. I sat with my back to wall, hugging my knees, waiting for her to say something. Her back was to me, her hands clutching the top of her head. I was suddenly overcome by the need to hold her and lie to her about how everything was going to be OK.

I lay down next to her but did not touch her. Immediately, she rolled over to face me, or rather, bury her face into my shoulder, and sobbed for a harrowing twenty minutes.

Eventually, she took a deep breath and sat up, staring at the closed doors to the van cargo compartment, for no apparent reason.

"I'm sorry," she said.

I didn't know what to say.

"I was pretty mean to you today. I was scared and angry... not at you..." she turned to face me. "Well, maybe a little bit at you. I mean, it's not all entirely one hundo percent my fault, right?"

"No. I'm sorry," I could hardly form words and didn't know what I was saying until I was saying them, "I shouldn't have... I mean, I think maybe I pressured and..."

Her face collapsed in another gruesome sob. "It can't be your fault. Not at all, really. It was your birthday. I was drunk... It felt... I thought you'd like it... and, uh..."

"I did. I really loved it. I really, really loved it."

"...and maybe the best thing I can do for you now as your mom is get you as far away from me as possible. I'm just... awful."

"Please don't. I really, really loved it. And I love you."

I still had the card under my shirt. I pulled it out and put it in her hands. I felt a wave of relief when she laughed at the image on the front. "When the going gets tough, the tough cry in the car... fuck. That's... fuck! That's funny, Jakey, thank you." She opened the card and read aloud the message I wrote: "Dear Mom, I'm sorry I knocked you up. I love you."

She didn't laugh or cry at that, but appeared to be experiencing a new, quiet level of realization of our reality.

"What are we going to tell the... Jesus. The truth puts us both in jail. Jesus. No. I can't talk about any of that now. Fuck, I've never been so exhausted in my life."

I felt it too. And putting voice to it made me suddenly newly aware of the emotional burden I'd been lugging around all day.

"We better try to sleep," she said, "if there's any hope that I can. I should have lifted some Unisom or something too." I wished for a moment I'd been able to get her that vodka.

She pulled off her shirt and threw it to the back of the van. Then she pulled down her sweat-damp nylon pants to reveal the big ratty panties with holes so big it practically made them lingerie. The bra came off, freeing her swaying middle-aged boobs, but the panties stayed precariously in place. I took off my shirt and pants too, and lay down facing the back of her head as she pressed her soft, flabby back into my soft, flabby front. She had showered. She smelled like fake-apple-scent instead of sweaty crotch and her hair was still wet as it brushed my face. She let out a big sigh, like that could rule a line under a really hard day.

I put my arm around her, desperately hoping she wouldn't throw it off. My need for connection had me dangling by a thread and that rejection would have destroyed me. I cupped her boob (by accident?), and to my surprise, her soft nipple hardened between my knuckles, like so many nights before. Then her hand closed around mine. Then it pulled mine from her nipple, and my heart sank.

I briefly wished I'd jerked off at the mall. It was looking like tonight would be the first night in three months we weren't going to have sex. On reflection, the lack of menstruation-breaks should have tipped us both off a long time ago that something was amiss.

But then... she was placing my hand quite deliberately on her soft lower belly. My thumb-tip slipped into the belly fold of her naval. My little finger instinctively curled the coarse pubic hair spilling out of her panties. I flattened my hand and tenderly massaged the soft skin. I poured as much love as I could into it, as if I could transmit my love into the tiny little life taken root in Mom's womb, inches from my fingers. Our baby.

After a few minutes her breathing became deeper and she clenched her abdominal muscles with each breath. My hand slipped, unopposed, under the ragged fabric, and my fingers ran through her untamed bush of pubic hair. This hair was wet too, but not from the shower. I gently scratched my mom's pussy-lips, accumulating pubes and skin and sweat under my fingernails. She moaned a satisfying moan. An amusing silver lining of your mom having an STD was the gratifying noises she'd make when you give her itchy cunt a nice scratch. I slid my middle finger into the warm slick furrow, and then ran my fingertips against her slippery folds. Now two fingers went in. With a slight shiver she turned her torso to me. In the darkness it was hard to tell but I know she was smiling. Then Mom's tongue went in my mouth.

"How dumb are we?" she said with an actual chuckle when our lips parted, "Talk about never learning, yeah? We're absolutely the absolute worst fucking idiots."

"I found the other box," I reached around, trying to find the Trojans, "I'll put on a..."

Then she laughed loudly. "That's gold. What's the point? I think I lifted them to let the whole thing scare me straight. I mean if I'd tested negative and couldn't stop myself fucking you. You're not going to get me any more pregnant than you already did. Yeah?"

It's not that we'd never used condoms. We used them when we had them. But they were expensive and we couldn't always replace them. And sure, when we didn't have them, we didn't have to have sex. But we slept skin-on-skin on a mattress in the back of a van. And it was easy for hands to go places half-accidentally (and not just mine). And sometimes when that happened Mom couldn't sleep until she'd had a fuck. And y'know what? I really liked fucking her, so we'd fuck, and it was fun and beautiful. We only had each other so nobody else mattered anyway. The rules are written by the comfortable. The rules are for people who'd never get it.

She rolled her hips over and raised her legs in the air, inviting me to relieve the bedraggled pink(ish) panties from their duty. I dragged them carefully up her thick legs as I had done every night since my birthday. The smell of her arousal overtook the smell of rotting seaweed.

"Wanna come home?" Mom said with her inimitable smirk, my fingers already back in her exposed, flushed vagina, hot and oh so ready. It was the same thing she'd said that first night, once the vodka bottle was three-quarters emptied, in lieu of a birthday cake. That had been the most incredible night of my life. We'd had "the giggles" in a big way. We did silly dares in our underwear, and as the moon rose, these turned into naughty dares. I dared her to fart, and she did, loudly and pretty damned stinkily. We collapsed in laughter. She dared me to put my nose against her butt and inhale. I did. Her panties were a lot more intact back then, but her perfectly-timed surprise-fart went right through and into my lungs. I dared her to get naked, and she didn't blink. Off came the bra and panties. She made a show of wobbling her boobies. Although I really wanted to see her pussy, I couldn't really whilst her obese form was sitting on it. She dared me to get naked. Well, I pretty much had to, didn't I? I dared her to kiss my penis. She got on her hands and knees in front of me and paused for a moment in hesitation. Then she kissed it, making exaggerated kissy sound effects. Then Mom said "Happy Birthday Jakey" and put her mouth around it, and my brain exploded.

Her mouth was hot and wet and felt like nothing I'd ever felt before. I think she would have sucked me to completion if I hadn't panicked and gently lifted her head off.

There was a momentary look in her face I'll never forget. Doubt, panic, teetering on the edge of terminal remorse. So I kissed her vigorously on the lips. And then her tongue was in my mouth, and then she was on her back and my fingers were inside her. And her legs were in the air, parted, and she said "Wanna come home?"

She'd found it so hilarious on that night, and had said it again every time since. It was the sign she was inviting me in. After I "came home" that first time, I couldn't sleep a wink. I was wired and intermittently fingered her until dawn, examining her juice and wondering how much of the sticky wetness was my semen. When the sun rose, I ambled down to the shower block. The shower water made my cock slick with her revived juices and somehow that was what it took to smack me over the head with reality. It hadn't been a dream. I had just fucked my mom.

She had been awake when I'd got back to the van, and had cried most of the day. It had been a bad day and I don't like to think about it. But when the sun set and she'd composed herself, I managed to get a few smiles out of her. The rest of the vodka was consumed, and after some hugging, some kissing and some giggles, her naked legs went up again. "Wanna come home?"

And now, on the cusp of what must be nearly our one hundredth fuck, a smirking "Wanna come home?"

As with every other time, I held her knees apart and imagined. I imagined her screaming and crying and cursing my father as she pushed a tiny version of me out of this hole. I imagined my father seeing her naked with legs spread like this every time he fucked her, including the night she conceived me (when she was so many years younger and so many pounds lighter). If he knew we were doing this tonight, would they find him hanging in his cell tomorrow morning?

"Yes please," I croaked, as I always did, and she pulled my very hard penis from my boxers.

She fitted the head of my cock to her slick entrance and I pushed, sliding it up inside her almost frictionlessly. Our obese, naked bodies heaved against each other with a wet-sounding rhythm. When she was wet, she was very wet, and within seconds, copious secretions had drenched my balls, as they gently slapped against Mom's hefty buttocks with each thrust.

As always we both got out of breath way too quickly. I don't know if she came - I never knew, but she made sounds like she was really enjoying it. If she was faking, she was good at faking. We kissed. We kissed long and stole the breath from each others' lungs. My hands were full of her huge breasts, smearing the wetness from her cunt across them. My thumbs fondled her hardened nipples in unison as I felt it coming, and before I knew it, there was the familiar rush of semen jetting along my cock, and it spurted into her, mingling with her love juices and, for all I knew, clouding the fluids around my brother, or sister, or

daughter, or son.

I collapsed next to her and we kissed some more.

There was so much to talk about, but we didn't. We couldn't think. I placed my lips on her nipple and my hand back on her belly. Every now and then she'd scratch her itchy crotch. Or I would. Now and then, one of us would lift a leg and fart in Mexican, and we'd both laugh.

"I love you," I said.

"I love you too."

And against all expectations, we were both able to sleep.

I woke hours later to the sensation of the van rocking in response to vigorous movement. Cracks in the paint over the window swept beams of sunlight back and forth over the seat backs above my head.

"Fuckfuckfuck... mggguurrr," Mom was panicking, naked and fumbling for the handle at the back of the van. The door swung open, flooding the van with early morning light and the smell of seaweed as mom heaved with her whole body and let a stream of vomit out onto the dusty gravel car park. From my angle, her fat ass dominated my view, head down, thighs spread, anus and cum-crusted-cunt at maximum exposure. Some might say it's a disturbing sight to watch someone vomiting. But this here was the most beautiful sight in the world.

I reached into a shopping bag and pulled out a bottle of mouthwash. I handed it to Mom when she paused. She took a swig, spat it out, and closed the doors.

Thankfully nobody had been around to see.

"Thanks," she said, breathless.

I don't know what look I gave her, but I know the look I got back. Seconds later, her ankles were on my shoulders again, and my balls were soaked. It was the first time we'd ever fucked in daylight. That was a shift in routine.

Oh well, I guess I was going to have to get used to our routines being disrupted soon enough anyway...