The Bimbo Pill Pt. 01 - Mom

So when, on Sunday afternoon, Gwen sent him a text, asking him if he wanted to go see a movie, he agreed with almost indecent haste, pulling on his leather jacket and gloves and leaving the house almost before his mother could ask where he was going.

Anything, he thought, to get out of there for a few hours.

They watched the movie, which was a mediocre rom-com, with a leading actor and actress he was sure would be completely forgotten in a few months. The woman, he said to himself stubbornly during the obligatory sex scene, couldn't hold a candle to his mother, in either looks or personality. Her looks were pale and washed-out compared to his mother's pure beauty, her hair limp, her eyes dull, her body completely uninteresting.

Afterwards, he took Gwen out to dinner, hoping to delay the hour at which he would have to go back home. It was strange, he thought with black humor, how quickly a refuge could become a place to be dreaded.

"Are you all right?" Gwen asked, as he poked at his shrimp and pasta dish. A half-eaten breadstick lay on one side of his plate. "You've been quiet all day."

He forced a smile. "Sorry. It's been kind of a weird weekend."

"Oh? Is your sister back from school?" Gwen's face was curious, but her voice was sweetly poisonous. "Couldn't she find someone to take her to spring break?"

"That's the weekend after next," he said shortly. Though Linda would be coming home, he was pretty sure, not going to spring break. His sister disapproved of the party culture found at many schools on general principles, and was never happier than when she was busy in the lab or when she had her nose in a book.

But Gwen had always been jealous of his older sister. As if the two were running some sort of private competition that only Gwen was aware of, and she kept coming in second place. Linda, on the other hand, seemed completely unaware of his girlfriend's simmering resentment, and was distantly pleasant whenever the two women's paths crossed.

"Oh." Gwen's hand stole across the table and found his, her thumb caressing his fingers suggestively. "If you're not hungry, we can go back to my place," she said, her brows arching innocently. "My parents are having a date night tonight, and I have the pace to myself. They won't be back until late. I bet I could find you something much nicer...to eat."

Max looked at Gwen, and suddenly he wanted nothing to do with her, at least not tonight. He could see the track her future would take, if she wasn't careful. Mediocrity would stalk her for her entire life. A degree in liberal arts from a junior college, after she flunked out of Stanford halfway through her sophomore year. One failed marriage, then two. Weight gain, a string of unsatisfying jobs, children who would never quite live up to her expectations...

"No." He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I know it sounds crazy, after the last few months, to say that I'm not in the mood. But things are kind of strange at home." At the spur of the moment, he uttered a half-truth. "My mom got some disappointing news a few days ago. I'm still trying to figure things out."

She blinked at him, her fair eyebrows furrowing. He wondered, suddenly, if his attraction to the blond-haired Gwen had anything to do with his own mother's Scandinavian beauty.

Stop it. You've got enough problems without throwing an Oedipus complex into things, too.

"Did she get another job offer? Are you moving?"

"Oh, no. Nothing like that. Though it does have to do with her job." Ashamed of his misdirection, he decided to be at least partially honest. "One of her new drugs has come under the gun. She isn't sure if it will ever be released. She's pretty upset."

"That's too bad." But it was clear that to Gwen, his mother's problems were of only passing interest. She dug into her own plate of fettuccine hungrily. "What are your plans for the summer? Going to get a job? Or just veg out for three months before school starts?"

He shook his head. "Mom would kill me if I tried to sit around on my butt all summer. Her mom and dad are farmers down in Iowa. She's got that old-fashioned work ethic. You know. The worse a job is the better it is for your moral fiber. Two years ago I spent the summer flipping burgers. And last year I did time on a road crew. Remember that? I'm hoping that this summer I can find something that's indoors and air-conditioned and doesn't involve grease."

Gwen laughed, tilting her head back, and Max smiled. He did love her. At least a little. And if it didn't compare to what he felt for his mother, well, that wasn't anyone's fault.

*****

It was almost ten when he got back home after dropping Gwen off at her house. She had repeated her offer, but he had again declined. The house was dark, almost all the lights on the ground floor extinguished, when he made his way through the front door.

He was about to slip up the front staircase when he heard a low murmur of sound from deeper inside the house. Walking quietly, he walked through the kitchen and the dining room, finding the living room lit only by the glow of the television.

His mother lay sprawled on the couch, sound asleep. On the screen, an erotic movie was playing, the pulsing bass low and muted. On the coffee table beside the couch was the remains of her dinner - a half-eaten frozen pizza and a mostly-empty bottle of red wine. The glass near her outflung hand was still nearly full.

He bent down, shaking her shoulder. "Mom? Wake up."

She opened her eyes, and for a moment he thought that Ronnie had come back. A smile lit her face, pure and simple.

But then memory returned, like the falling of a curtain, and her eyes clouded, her hand going to her head.

"Oh, crap. I drank too much." Her eyes strayed to the TV, where a man and a surgically-enhanced woman were enthusiastically screwing. Even in the dim light, Max could see her face turn red with embarrassment. "Oh. Jesus." One hand fumbled for a remote, her fingers stabbing at the power button. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. To have you see this."

"It's okay." He bit his lip. But right now, anything he could think to say seemed either completely inadequate or disgustingly degenerate. How did you tell your mother that when you had made love to her the previous afternoon, it had been the most wonderful erotic experience of your entire life? Especially when she was under the influence of a mind-altering drug? He might as well hang a neon sign around his neck that flashed 'pervert' in big red letters.

Without being able to say what he meant without coming off as some sort of sexual deviant, he settled for clichés. "Come on, Mom. Get up. You can't sleep here all night."

Veronica staggered to her feet, then swayed alarmingly. He kept a hand on her arm, helping to steady her. She sniffled. "You must think I'm disgusting."

"I don't think that at all." Slowly, he guided her through the kitchen, where he paused to get her a big glass of water. "Go on, drink this. Do it," he insisted, when she hesitated. "If you drank as much as I think, you're going to have a bitch of a hangover in the morning."

She scowled at him, but drank half the glass. He topped it up, adding some ice cubes from the icemaker in the fridge to keep it cold.

"Here we go," he said, helping her up the stairs.

"I'm not that drunk, Max," she said.

"Of course not," he agreed. "I'm sure you could make it upstairs on your own. But what sort of son would I be if I let you take that chance?"

"A bad one." An unwilling snicker escaped her mouth as they emerged into the upper hallway.

He left her sitting on her bed while he made a side trip to her bathroom. She glowered at the pills he had in his hand when he came out. "What are those for?"

He held out two aspirin. "These are for the headache you're going to wake up with around four in the morning. This way you get a good night's sleep.

"And these," he showed her the other two, "are for the headache you're still going to have when your alarm goes off at six. If you're lucky, you won't have to call in sick after drinking most of a bottle of red wine with that crappy-ass frozen pizza."

Her glare lacked force, and she dutifully swallowed the first two aspirin, chasing them with a large swallow of water. "Going to take my clothes off and tuck me into bed, too?" she sniped. "I bet you would enjoy that."

Max went cold. "That's not fair."

"No." She flushed, avoiding his eyes, looking at the floor. "It wasn't. I'm sorry."

"Christ." He leaned up against the wall. "Is this how it's going to be for us from now on?"

She shook her head. "I hope not." When she met his eyes, he flinched. They were haunted by guilt and despair. "But what are we going to do, Max?"

He wished he had the ability to heal the rift between them with words. But he couldn't come up with anything that didn't sound ignorant, hopelessly trite, or as if he wanted to go back to bed with her.

"I don't know." He rubbed his face. "Go on, I guess." He reached behind him, turning off the bathroom light. The bedroom grew dim, the only light now from the lamp beside the bed. "You go on to bed now," he said. "Things will look better in the morning."

But as he closed the door behind him, he wondered if that was true. His great-grandmother, Veronica's own maternal grandmother, was still alive and feisty at nearly a hundred years old, swearing at the assistants in the nursing home with cheerful disdain for things like propriety and good manners. His mother came from a long-lived family. Both of his maternal grandparents were alive, and three of his four great-grandparents on that side of the family. It had been barely a day since he and his mother had screwed. Did they have sixty years of awkwardness and guilt lying ahead of them?

*****

You thought you were so damn smart.

Veronica sat in the employee lounge at Biodyne, staring at her half-eaten lunch.

I know! I have a great idea! Let's take a completely unknown, untested drug that might have an effect on my inhibitions and see what happens! Brilliant!

Be fair to yourself, another part of her said. How could you know that it would have such a huge effect on your libido?

You didn't know, but you could have guessed. What the drug did echoed everything you knew about it. You should have suspected that a woman who hadn't been laid in over four years might experience some interesting side-effects. You knew it lowered inhibitions. You knew it effected judgement. And you took it anyway.

Idiot.

Her stomach churned. What she had done was so far beyond the pale that it would take a telescope to see it. Not only had she broken scores of ethical rules by using an untested drug on herself, but while she was under its influence, she had actually made love to her own son! And not just once. But twice!

And you enjoyed it, a voice whispered, deep in her mind. Admit it. It was the best sex you'd had since before you met Donny.

"Shut up," she muttered, stabbing at her fruit cup with her fork. "I didn't."

You did.

"Well, yeah." Her lips turned up in memory. "I actually did."

Her cheeks heated as she recalled what she and Max had done. Despite her shame and guilt, both her body and mind knew the truth. It had been wonderful. Her son had combined the traits she had sought in her lovers as if he had been made for her and her alone. Gentle and passionate, strong and caring, handsome and considerate and filled with an innocent enthusiasm untarnished by time or cynicism.

And well-hung, too. Don't forget that.

Ha. As if I could.

No. She couldn't forget that. Not when her inner sheath was still feeling the aftereffects of a morning of epic sex, even if it was from two days ago. If soreness could be pleasant, this was. It reminded her of her teenage years, when she would get laid during a football game (or after the game, or both) and come home with her legs wobbly and her pussy throbbing with the residual pleasure of two or three fantastic orgasms.

Too bad it won't happen again.

Ever.

Suddenly furious, she finished her yogurt, and threw both the empty container and the half-eaten fruit cup into the trash bin with much more force than was strictly necessary. Charging out the door, she nearly collided with Jan De Leon, an executive like herself, and one of her closest work friends.

"Whoa, girl." Jan skipped to one side, avoiding her, then frowned, peering at her reddened eyes. "Hey. Are you all right?"

"Sure. I just didn't get much sleep last night." She lay one hand over her belly and raised her eyebrows significantly. "You know."

Jan grimaced. "Cramps. Yeah. I know. It's almost enough to make me look forward to menopause, now that Larry and I are finished with having kids." She made a little scissoring motion with her fingers. "Snip snip."

Veronica forced a smile, then made her excuses and walked away, hoping that her discomfort wasn't showing. All day, she had felt as if her actions of Saturday morning were visible to everyone she met, perhaps tattooed on her forehead or stitched onto the cloth of her blouse in scarlet letters for all to see.

She hurried back to her office, closing the door behind her.

She got through the rest of the day, somehow, though at times she felt as if she were sleepwalking. Luckily, no important decisions had to be made, so she was able to fake her way through the afternoon's meetings without contributing much, though she did sense some raised eyebrows at her uncharacteristic silence.

When five o'clock came, she headed for the door with almost indecent haste. Though, she thought grimly as she drove home on the traffic-clogged expressway, what was waiting for her there wasn't any better than what she had left at the office. She remembered the look of pity on Max's face the night before, when he had found her passed out in front of the television, with a dirty movie playing and nearly an entire bottle of wine poured down her throat. She had barely been able to stand when Max had woken her up. Usually Veronica had no patience at all for people who couldn't handle alcohol, and limited herself to one or two glasses of wine on a Friday or Saturday night. To be found completely inebriated was a horrible feeling.

But it had been the only way to deal with her horniness and guilt. The porn had made it easier to masturbate, and the wine had made it easier to fall asleep, without her guilt-ridden conscience bludgeoning her every time she turned around.

It was as if that one morning had unlocked doors she had thought barred forever. Ever since Donny had left her, she had almost given up on the thought of sex. A marriage which had been loveless and barren for over a decade had burned all thoughts of romance out of her, leaving her with nothing but duty. Duty towards her children, her family, and her career. Sex wasn't even an afterthought any more, and masturbation so routine it was no more interesting that brushing her teeth.

But last night, when Max had left, her mind had drifted back to the morning before, the wonderful feeling as she had been able to let go. That part of her which was always thinking, analyzing, and planning ahead had disappeared, and only the present was left.

Only Ronnie. Not Veronica.

She squirmed in her leather seat, remembering how she had transformed into a sex-hungry bimbo. For those too-few hours, she had been a young woman again, with no more thought for the future than how soon she could get out of class and get a good stiff cock between her legs to satisfy the itch in her pussy.

And then it had all been cruelly taken away from her as the drug wore off, slowly taking her back to her gray, bleak reality.

She gripped the steering wheel in silent agony. She wanted her son. Wanted him with a visceral need. But the thought of approaching him, of telling him that she wanted him in her bed, not just for one night, but for every night to come, made her belly go cold.

I can't do it. What would he think of me? What would I think of myself?

A calm, clear voice spoke up, back in the dark depths of her mind. Ronnie could do it.

Her eyes flicked to her purse. Though she had sworn to herself that she would throw the pills out when she got to the office, somehow the foil-wrapped packets were still there, amid the jumble of lipstick and tissue and loose change.

Her hand reached out, then she pulled it back. The she reached out again.

I want this. But I need help. Ronnie's braver. She doesn't care what other people think.

Before she could lose her nerve, she had downed the tiny pill. This time, knowing what to look for, she could sense the slow loss of control, the wonderful feeling of being subsumed, as Ronnie rose up to take over her body. By the time she exited the expressway, she had turned the radio up and was singing along to Taylor Swift at the top of her voice. And why not? She had everything she could want! A nice car, money in her pocket, good looks...who wouldn't be jealous of her?

And God, wasn't her cunt hungry for some cock? Stopped at a red light, she slid a hand up and under the hem of her skirt, fingering her slit through the stupid pair of panties that repressed, stuck-up bitch Veronica had put on that morning. Her head leaned back, her eyes closed, and she used her free hand to undo the top two buttons of her blouse, reaching in to squeeze her titties, which felt hot and heavy.

An engine revved next to her, and her eyes snapped open. Sitting in the next lane was a good-looking guy, his eyes frankly admiring as he took in her disheveled state.

She licked her lips lewdly, staring him in the eyes. For a split second, she thought about rolling down the window and finding out if he was in the mood for a quick fuck, but a fleeting thought snagged in her mind. Wasn't she going somewhere?

Right! She giggled at how silly she was. She couldn't fuck this guy. She didn't even know him. But Max was sure to be home, and look at how good he had made her feel two days ago. She was going home to fuck him!

The light turned green, and she peeled away from the intersection, leaving old what's-his-name eating her slush.

Ronnie pulled into her spot in the driveway with reckless speed, nearly sideswiping Max's car in the process. Her entire body felt like it was on fire, needing nothing as much as the feel of her son's body on top of her, his hot cock thrusting deep inside her aching, dripping sheath, filling her over and over.

She nearly leaped out of the car, then paused, her hand on the door handle, as a wicked thought crossed her lust-fogged mind. She laughed out loud. That would be fun!

Snickering to herself, Ronnie pulled off her panties and shoved them into the pocket of the heavy jacket she wore to work, then got out of the car, making sure to shut the door loudly enough so her son could hear it inside the house. She repeated the process when she went inside, the sound of the slamming door echoing throughout the house.

"Max!" she shouted, stifling an urge to laugh. "Get down here! Right now!"

A long silence was her only answer. Finally, she heard the creak as his bedroom door opened, then slow footsteps in the upper hallway.

He better not have been jacking it. I've got plans for that pecker of his. And I'm not about to wait until he recharges, or whatever it is boys do. God, why can't they stay hard all the time? Women are so much nicer.

"Yeah, Mom?" His face pale, her son looked at her over the edge of the railing.

"I said," she grated out from behind clenched teeth, fighting back a surge of giggles, "to get down here." Doing her best to imitate a woman in a blistering fury, she shrugged out of her jacket, then hurled it across the room, where it fell across the back of the couch in a crumpled heap. Somehow she was able to keep her expression under control, though her belly churned with desire at the mere sight of her son's beloved face. She pointed at the floor. "Now."