T4A+ Marcy: Spring Cleaning

T4A+ Marcy: Spring Cleaning

Note: This story is not about characters from the T4A series. However, I consider these characters to be of the same reality. It's possible they may cross paths.

Marcy: Book One

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I: A box of porn.

Late Spring 2022

Thursday afternoon, 19-year-old college sophomore Evan Sullivan sees his mother's SUV parked at the end of the driveway as he approaches their house. He instantly knows this is a sign she has actually begun cleaning out the garage. His mother had talked about the task so often and never followed through that he paid it no mind when she announced, last night, her intention to complete the long-delayed project this weekend.

Evan parks next to his mom's car and observes the seriousness of her efforts. 'Stuff' is scattered all over the driveway. Evan resignedly texts his friend Blake, telling him he won't be online to game as planned, and his whole three-day weekend was now likely taken. Evan receives the expected rude, but good-natured, texts in reply, before informing his friend of the torture that awaits him, sending him a picture of the mess as proof. Thinking he'd get a sympathetic response, instead his friend asks Evan what his mom is wearing and can he get a picture of her. After texting his friend "you wish," he receives the reply: "yeah i do" - "dude youre so lucky." - "fuck man i'll come help." Evan replies with the "middle finger emoji" as he sees his mom step out of the garage into the bright Florida sun and wave.

Even dirty, make-up-free, sweaty from exertion, her long locks pulled back in a ponytail and hidden under a baseball cap, 39-year-old Marcy Sullivan still can't help but look cute. Her big, green eyes and thick, full lips smile in unison at the sight of her son. "I told you I was going to do it," she says, waving her hands at her progress.

"I never doubted you," Evan smiles, clearly fibbing.

"Uh huh, well I scheduled a junk man to come Monday. So we're on a schedule. Janel's going to come by Sunday to look at the furniture and lamps and see if she thinks anything else might be worth something. I called Re-Play Sports about that stuff," the mother says pointing at a pile of sports and camping equipment, "Nathan says he doesn't want any of it, so make sure there's nothing you want. Then, we really just need to go through my parent's stuff," she offers an obviously over-optimistic smile.

"Oh, is that all," Evan chuckles, surveying the walls of shelves of boxes and small mountain on the floor, filling up most of one side of the garage. "Nathan doesn't want anything?" he asks, referencing his, recently officially divorced from his mom, now ex, step-dad.

"No, he says you can have whatever and sell or trash the rest. C'mon, it won't be that bad. One weekend out of your life," Marcy pouts, rubbing her son's shoulder. She knows, like all the men in her life, her son can't resist her pout.

Evan laughs, "Okay, let me go get changed and I'll give you a hand." His concession wins him a kiss on the cheek and a thank you.

Changed, Evan checkes his phone before heading back to the garage, two more texts from Blake: "duuude just one pic" - "ok at least tell me what your mom is wearing." Evan shakes his head, deciding to mess with his friend he replies: "dude shes wearing this tiny little g-string bikini" - "its fucking unreal" Knowing the truth would have been enough to excite his friend, he can't help lying, imagining his friend's reaction, knowing his infatuation with his mother. Most of Evan's friends acknowledge his mom's looks but Blake is the only one who openly horn-dogs her.

Entering the garage from the house, Evan is greeted by the sight of his mom bent over opening a box. He takes a beat to admire her from the rear. Her black yoga pants stretched impossibly tight, covering everything, but hiding little. Her tiny feet stuffed in black sneakers. Gray sports bra slung over her shoulders, supporting her more than ample bosom. Evan quickly sneaks a picture and sends it to Blake, feeling the usual slight pang of guilt. "So what's the plan?" he asks approaching his mother.

Evan begins to move boxes into rows on the garage floor while Marcy opens them and decides if they're worth going through or re-sealing them for the junk men to take. Evan manages to put a dent in the mountain, lining up several rows. He noticed his mom had barely made it through two boxes. "You okay," he asks, afraid his fear of it being too soon is coming true. "If it's too soon it's okay, you know. The stuff isn't going anywhere," he offers walking over to place a hand on his mother's shoulder.

"Oh, no really, it's fine sweetie, it needs to be done. He wanted us to do it, so..." Marcy offers, thinking once again of the letter her father wrote from the hospital two years ago. He didn't actually write it, the hospital provided someone to write down what he had said, as he lay gasping for air, about to be put on a ventilator.

Going through her deceased father's belongings wasn't something Marcy had envisioned having to do for a long time, if ever. But then most of Marcy's life seemed determined by a fate she had little influence on. Pregnant at 19, she left home after falling out with her parents. She struggled to get by, doing things she never imagined. But she powered through, finding a reserve of perseverance she hadn't realized she possessed in order to provide for Evan and herself.

Those first few years as a single mom were rough. With only a high school diploma, her job prospects were limited to minimum wage and it quickly became clear that would not suffice if she was to provide any meaningful level of quality of life for her son. A high school friend told her she was working as an exotic dancer and making over $1500 a week working only four nights. Marcy never imagined she'd be in such a desperate situation and would have previously looked down on such a job, but desperate times called for desperate measures, she ultimately resigned herself. After all, her mother had called her a whore and worse when she announced she was pregnant and keeping her baby, setting a rather low bar for the teenager.

Marcy worked as a stripper for five years and if she was being honest, they were the most fun years of her life. She managed to avoid the pitfalls befallen by most of her coworkers; partying, drugs, fancy cars, shitty boyfriends and husbands. She credited Evan with that. Her love for her son kept her focused on what was important. There were exceptions of course. No young person goes through life without taking risks and making mistakes. And Marcy had always been highly sexed and working as a stripper certainly exposed her to a side of life she found exciting. Thankfully, despite brief forays into other aspects of sex work, namely escorting and porn, she had avoided any life-altering trouble or consequences. And she had successfully managed to keep those things a secret from her son. Mostly. A few years ago her brother came to town for Marcy's annual Christmas party and after getting drunk, he let slip that Marcy had been a stripper. It wasn't the end of the world, none of her friends really batted an eye and she got to tease her son that all his first babysitters had been exotic dancers. But she was grateful that was the 'only' disreputable part of her past that her brother was aware of.

Her marriage to Nathan Johnson had been more a business arrangement than a romantic partnership. He traveled the world opening casinos, spending two to three years in one location before moving on to the next. He wanted to present the stability of a family to his employers while being free to live as he chose. They met when she was stripping, she thought he was a dashing older businessman, they dated some and fucked a lot over several months before he made her a proposition. If she would marry him and play the dutiful wife once or twice a year at work functions, he would provide for her and Evan in every way possible, but he would not be an everyday part of their lives and what either of them did when apart was none of the other's business. Marcy was happy to accept the offer and over the past 14 years, Nathan had been good to his word taking care of both her and Evan financially, and making time to visit when he could or flying them to him at least once a year. There were real feelings between them but never quite became truly romantic. Nathan genuinely cared for Evan and Marcy was grateful for her son to have a stable, successful, male presence in his life, even if it was sporadic. Nathan had been working in China when Covid started and she remained worried about him for the 18 months they were unable to travel to see one another.

Marcy had no contact with her parents for nearly two decades. Her brother would occasionally pass on bits of news and she assumed he did the same to them, but it was never discussed. Marcy had left home angry and heartbroken and the passage of time did little to change her feelings. When her brother called to say their mother had cancer and only months or weeks to live, Marcy briefly entertained new hope for a reconciliation, but it never came. Even in death, Marcy's mother had no apparent desire to reconcile with her daughter. That was mostly fine with Marcy, her mother had been a spiteful, superstitious, religious fundamentalist, and above all a hypocrite. She despised Marcy's strong will, independence, and beauty. At least that was what Marcy came to understand through therapy. She had been prepared to forgive her mother should she ever ask. That she didn't make her passing that much simpler for her daughter. Marcy was sad for her mother but not herself, she had long ago let go of the ghost of a caring mother.

Her father on the other hand was more contrite and apologetic than she had ever dared hope. He made it clear that he was more distraught by the loss of his daughter decades ago than his wife now and he begged Marcy's forgiveness. They had two good years. Her father getting to know both his daughter and his grandson had done him obvious wonders mentally and physically. When Covid started Marcy tried to impress upon her father the seriousness of it and his specific risk, given his lifelong smoking habit and the extra weight he carried. Her dad disregarded the new disease as just the flu and three months into the pandemic found himself in the emergency room struggling to breathe.

Marcy still felt sad imagining her father dying alone, unable to receive visitors, as he slowly drowned in his own fluids. She felt cheated of the relationship they had been rebuilding, slowly working toward an acknowledgment neither had yet been ready to confront, but ultimately would be necessary to put the past in its place. And she felt burdened dealing with his affairs as her brother simply blew off any requests for help with a "...but you live there." It was a full year before they could have a proper funeral for her father. It then took a further six months to go through her childhood home and prepare it for sale. The result was that her garage was now full of her parent's belongings.

She had still been in the middle of dealing with her father's death when her husband called announcing he was coming to see her, "so they could talk." When Nathan announced he had met someone in China and decided to stay, Marcy was genuinely happy for him. Nathan was very generous in their divorce, giving her their house and vehicles, agreeing to monthly alimony, and setting up a trust fund for Ethan. He told both Marcy and Ethan that he hoped to remain a part of their lives, still hoping Ethan might follow in his footsteps. In many ways, Nathan had become a father figure to her more than a romantic partner and she wished him no ill will.

"They won't all be like this. It's just weird seeing some of this stuff again," Marcy reassures her son, holding up ballet shoes from when she was six or seven years old. "Here," she says handing Evan a box cutter, "Why don't you start at the other end and we'll meet in the middle," Marcy suggests, getting a less than enthused "okay" from her son.

Evan checks his phone walking across the garage. Blake: "that ass holy shit" - "so fucking sexy" - "the front???" - "cmon man your mom has the best tits in the city" - "ive done it for you buddy!!!" Evan had to admit he wasn't holding up his end. This all began when Blake started sending pictures of his own, equally hot mother, Stephanie, a couple years ago, during the covid lockdown. What started as a joke became routine with each regularly sending candid shots of their mother to the other whenever the opportunity arose. Blake's pictures tended to be more sneaky than Evan's and he suspected that meant Blake had the same taboo feelings about Stephanie as Evan has been experiencing towards Marcy. Evan texts back "when i can"

Watching his mom cut into another box, Evan slices open one of his own. "Clothes, just clothes," he says holding up a windbreaker bearing the name and symbol of a local car dealership. "Eww. Junk" Mother and son say in unison, nodding.

A few hours and many boxes later, Marcy and Evan are both working towards each other on the same row. "Whoa, cool," Evan reacts. Marcy already standing and stretching, walks over to see what appears to be a box full of adult magazines. The top of the two stacks being Barely Legal and Cheri.

"Oh wow, he kept them," exclaims Marcy, pulling back the top few to confirm the box was likely all porno magazines. All from the 80's and 90's she assumes. Seeing her son's questioning look, Marcy explains that despite her parent's holier-than-thou personas she had discovered their secret porno collection in their bedroom closet not long after she turned 18. A flood of memories overcome Marcy, suddenly her face becomes serious as if struck by a notion, and she sticks her hands between the stacks, searching from the bottom to the top of the box.

"What are you looking for, Mom?" Evan asks.

"Oh, just seeing if anything else was in there," she deflects the question, offering her son a smile. "Just dirty magazines it seems," she huffs, picking up the one on top.

She shakes her head recalling her parent's hypocrisy as she flips through the Barley Legal absent-mindedly, remembering how nervous and scared she had been when she first found them. Expecting to be taken straight to hell for looking at such things. Her young mind unable to process her parent's duality, she was very confused and a little frightened. But that fear didn't stop her from sneaking one back to her room whenever she could. "Bet you can't imagine having to go into a store and pay a cashier for these, can you?" Marcy asks, turning the magazine sideways to view the centerfold. She laughs. "Your generation has it lucky. You should keep these. I think that used to be a thing, passing on your porno collection," Marcy giggles, watching her son flip through one. "At least go through them, you might find something you like," she playfully winks and sticks her tongue out at her son. Moving away to start another box, she adds, "They might be worth something, so, even if you don't want them, don't throw them away. Or ruin them," the young mother snickers.

"Ruin them?" Evan questions confused, then, "Oh, eww." Mother and son share a laugh.

Marcy freezes, suddenly remembering the very hardcore and taboo stuff her father kept hidden in his desk. She hadn't thought about it in years. Her motherly impulse is to tell Evan never mind, he shouldn't look through the box, they should put it directly in the garbage. She hesitates as she looks over at her son, she sees a grown man capable of making his own decisions. She rationalizes that he's almost certainly seen worse on the internet. Well, maybe. Then she smiles, thinking; I enjoyed looking at that stuff, why deprive him of the same fun? She says nothing and gets back to work.

****

Unable to sleep, Marcy slips out of bed and heads to the garage. Finding the box has brought back some memories and feelings she hasn't thought of or experienced in years. They preoccupy her thoughts, she feels a desire to look through the box, to experience those feelings again. She tiptoes downstairs and quietly opens the garage to house door. She suddenly laughs at herself. Acting like a teenager again. A grown woman, in her own home, no less. She chuckles leaning down to open the box and chuckles again upon finding it only half full. She offers a sly smile and shake of her head. She had intended to only take a handful but instead picks up the box and its remaining contents, and takes it back to her bedroom.

Laying the magazines and books out on her bed, surprised to find many of the covers still familiar, the mother can't help but wonder what her son is currently doing. Looking through the magazines? Models with big tits and even bigger hair, does he find the style off-putting or titillating? Is he stroking his cock right now as she sits here on her bed, perusing the same pornography she looked at when she was his age? She laughs at the absurd, yet taboo prospect; her son masturbating to pornography that both she and her father and likely her mother had also masturbated to. The thought caused her already damp pussy to flutter.

Continuing to empty the box, Marcy finds interspersed with the mainstream publications, several incest-themed titles. Far more hard core than the others and predominately amateur-orientated. Titles like Father Daughter Bond, Mother Love, and Family Relations leave little doubt as to the subject contained within. Marcy feels the same thrill now as she did then. These still feel incredibly indecent, perhaps even more so now when compared to the tepid 'faux-cest' porn available today. Flipping through the pages of very average-looking mixed-age couples, Marcy wonders anew which, if any, might actually be family members committing real incest. Marcy pulls the last few items out of the box and pauses holding a small book, then referred to as a digest. She instantly recognizes it; her introduction to incest all those years ago. The face of a smiling, wholesome young blond looking into the camera, past the hard cock nearly pressed to her lips, a happy look on her face. The title: Family Letters. The caption: "Daddy's good girl deserves a treat."

****

II: A case of perversion.

Saturday afternoon, a very sweaty Marcy and Evan Sullivan stand in their garage drinking water, looking at the last pile of boxes. "Almost done, can you believe it?" asks Marcy, raising the water bottle to her lips.

"With a whole day to spare, who'd-a thunk?" Evan offers, glancing for the millionth time at her cleavage. He's had a hard time not thinking about his mother's breasts, the white sports bra she was wearing demanded attention. He wasn't sure what the top was intended for, but transparent with sweat it left little to his imagination, molding itself to her curves, her nipples prominently displayed through the thin fabric.

Marcy caught her son's glance at her chest, a sly grin spreading across her lips. She had noticed his increased attention the last two days and assumes it must be due to the box of porn and wonders if the incest stuff had this effect on him. She has no intention of condemning her son's ogling, she chose the top on purpose. Meant to be worn with something underneath, she knew her son was getting an eyeful. She knows he must have questions about why she didn't mind if he looked through the box and obviously he must have noticed it was no longer in the garage. Going through her parent's belongings, particularly the box of porn, has Marcy trying to process memories and feelings she hasn't acknowledged in decades. Now she is also internally debating how much of her past to share with her son, constantly going back and forth, unable to decide. Standing next to him, catching his glances, she remembers how much he loved her breasts when he was a toddler, how he cried when she would stop feeding him, and how, for years, he would grab at them like they were his favorite toys.