The Son Also Rises

By this time, Tom's friends were rolling around the ground with laughter.

"Don't listen to him," said my stepmom, "I can explain all this later."

"Maybe her mother can help you with that pecker," said Tom, "She used to be one of my best hookers."

At that, something inside me snapped. All decorum went out the window. I didn't care if I had two broken arms. Slipping past Greta, I ran up to Tom and gave him a swift kick in the groin. Tom's eyeballs grew huge and he dropped the bundle of money on the ground. I looked him squarely in the eyes and slammed my forehead onto his nose. Blood splattered everywhere as he fell backwards. His hands made a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

Without thinking, I reached into Tom's belt grabbed his pistol as he fell backwards. I started firing at Tom's friends. They were still laughing as I pulled the trigger five times. The high caliber pistol sent huge amounts of lead crashing through skulls. Bone fragments and brains flew in the air. When I was finished, there were five men on the ground bleeding from gunshot wounds to the head.

Then I pointed the pistol at Tom. There was a bewildered look on his face.

"Holy crap," said Tom, "You broke my nose."

His insolent attitude only served to anger me more. Without delay, I took the butt of the pistol and proceeded to pummel Tom on his face. After a few minutes, Tom's face was a bloody mess. My arms and hands were in pain. I probably strained a muscle, but I knew I had to end the confrontation soon. Even though his friends were all dead or dying, Tom was still a viable threat.

I checked the revolver. It was a six-shooter. There was one bullet left. Without another thought, I pointed to Tom's head and pulled the trigger. I saw the look of horror on Tom's face before the bullet collided with this skull. Tom's brains splattered all over the parking lot after a large hole appeared on his forehead.

At that, my stepmom scooped up all of her money that had fallen to the ground. Afterwards, she pulled me into the car. She turned the key and put the car in reverse. Greta hit the gas and the old Buick kicked up gravel as it backed away. Looking at the bodies of the men, I waited to see if anyone was getting up, but none of the men were moving. Greta stopped and changed direction. She spun the car around and drove away at top speed.

That evening, I did not even eat dinner. I had no appetite. By the time we had returned home, the adrenaline had worn off and I was in great pain.

Later that night, my stepmom came into my bathroom. There was an awkward quiet between the two of us as she brought some clean towels to me. I was naked in the shower. I grimaced from the pain emanating from my arms. My stepmom had previously wrapped my casts with plastic bags. In this way, I would not get any of the casts wet.

Doctor Ludlum had specifically asked that I not use my arms and hands. Still, I tried to grab the soap with my right hand, but my fingers would not wrap around it without a great deal of pain. In fact, the soap annoyingly slid around in the soap dish. After a few minutes of general frustration, I resigned myself to standing in the shower as the water trickled down my face.

While I was wallowing in self-pity, my stepmom stepped into the shower with me. She was wearing only a bra and panties. Normally, I would have stared at her beautiful body, but I was experiencing too much pain to even care. Without a word, my stepmom grabbed the soap for me and proceeded to wash me.

"I am so sorry," I said.

My stepmom sighed. She was probably embarrassed about her mother. Everyone had family secrets and this was one secret my stepmom probably wanted to take to her grave.

"Relax, my dad doesn't even talk to me anymore," I said, "Your mom's secrets are safe with me."

"You didn't need to hear that about my mother," said my stepmom.

"I thought you said I should not be having any relationship with your mother," I said teasingly.

"I don't want you to look at her any differently," said my stepmom.

"I won't," I said.

"My mother has made a lot of mistakes since my dad walked out on us," said my stepmom.

"I bet that was hard for you," I said.

My stepmother shrugged her shoulders. Still, she did not meet my gaze.

"It will be our little secret," I said.

"I appreciate that," said my stepmom.

"I don't understand why anyone would walk out on someone as beautiful as your mother," I said.

Greta's face blushed. She had not expected that compliment.

"You really should control your hormones," said my stepmom jokingly.

"I don't understand why my father refuses to come home to a woman as beautiful as you," I said.

"You really have to control your anger," said my stepmom.

"I am not happy with my father and I wasn't going to let Tom take your money," I said.

"I don't think you were that concerned about my money," said my stepmom, "I think you are still angry about what happened to you at that football game."

I sighed. She was right. This was the first time that I had showed any emotion about that football game. I went from the apple of my father's eye to a complete embarrassment. I went from having a bright future to having a broken phallus. This was the worst way to release my anger. It would only be a short time before the police arrived at the house to take me to jail for murdering six people.

"I'll keep your secrets if you keep my secrest," said my stepmom.

"I wasn't going to let them hurt you," I said.

"I know," said my stepmom with a sigh.

"Now I'll be going to jail," I said.

"Not if I can help it," said my stepmom, "That is why you are confined to your room."

"Yes, ma'am," I said teasingly, "I guess I am grounded indefinitely."

"You're not going anywhere," said my stepmom, "We will wait until this blows over."

"How much money has he taken from you?" I asked.

"I was raised by my grandmother," said my stepmom, "Tom found me after my mom skipped town."

"Was that when Tom started asking for money?" I asked.

"Tom knew that my mother sent me money," said my stepmom, "And Tom wanted that money."

"That is called extortion," I said.

"I wasn't about to drive your dad's Mercedes," said my stepmother, "I am sure Tom would have taken that, too."

"You are probably right," I said.

"Are you always this violent?" asked my stepmother.

"No," I said, "But I wasn't going to let anyone hurt one of my friends."

"Tom was not going to hurt me," said my stepmom, "This is not the first time I have turned money over to him."

"How long has this been going on?" I asked.

"At least a year," said my stepmom.

Then I noticed that my stepmother's bra and panties were getting soaked. She adjusted her bra a few times because the straps were sliding off of her shoulders.

"I really should let Betty do this," said my stepmom.

"Why don't you let Betty do this?" I asked.

Greta frowned and looked at me suspiciously.

"If Betty was here," said my stepmom, "Betty would be completely naked in the shower."

I blushed. Even though I had no objection having any woman naked with me in the shower, I was not about to let my stepmom know that. I tried not to think of Betty's naked body with me in the shower. It had been so long since I had a girlfriend. Just the thought of Betty naked was getting me excited. Still, the pain in my arms and hands was destroying any sexual thoughts in my mind.

"No," I said meekly.

"That is bullshit," said my stepmom, "She was practically naked and sleeping in your bed."

"Betty was in her underwear," I said.

"I caught you two kissing the other day," said my stepmom.

"She was thanking me," I said.

My stepmom rolled her eyes at me. I started to wonder if my stepmom was a little jealous of Betty. My stepmother was much younger than Betty and more physically fit. Still, I wondered if my stepmom was starting to mistake me for my father. Since my father was never around, I was the now the man of the house.

"Does everyone who does something nice for you have to kiss you?" asked my stepmom.

"As long as you are not a guy," I said.

"What about me?" my stepmom asked.

"What about you?" I asked.

"You killed six people for me today," said my stepmom.

I swallowed hard. Now, my stepmom thought I was a mass murderer with an uncontrolled anger problem. I tried my best to rationalize my actions.

"I thought you were in danger," I said.

My stepmom was silent for a moment.

"I have never had anyone stand up for me like that," said my stepmom.

I looked into her eyes. I was not sure if she was serious. A woman as beautiful as my stepmom would surely attract a lot of unwelcome attention. Surely, someone would have stood up to defend her.

"You forget that I used to play football," I said, "I'm not afraid of a little rough and tumble."

"Is that how your father raised you?" my stepmom asked.

I nodded. It was the sad truth. My father did not want a weakling as a son. He made me play sports for as long as I could remember.

"My dad does not take prisoners," I said, "He does not tolerate wimps."

My stepmom looked at me carefully. There was a little fear in her eyes.

"I guess I don't know your father all that well," my stepmom said.

My stepmom was unlike the other women who came before her. Most of the women my father dated were shallow and vain. None of them ever expressed any genuine interest in me except Greta. That meant a great deal to me.

"How did you meet my father anyway?" I asked.

"I was working at a restaurant," my stepmom said.

"I didn't know that," I said.

"Your father and his friends kept coming into the restaurant," said my stepmom.

"What did you think of my father?" I asked.

"I thought he was an arrogant son-of-a-bitch," my stepmother said, "And I should have trusted my instincts."

"Most people say that," I said.

"What do you think of your father?" my stepmother asked.

"I don't," I said.

"What does that mean?" my stepmother asked.

"It has not been easy being his son," I said, "He is such a demanding person."

"I would have to agree with that," my stepmother said.

I waited for my stepmom to finish her sentence.

"I don't know how many times I turned him down before I went on a date with him," my stepmother said, "He literally swept me off my feet."

"I guess the honeymoon is over," I said.

"That is true," my stepmother said, "The honeymoon has been over for months now."

"Sorry to hear that," I said.

"So how many times has your father remarried?" my stepmother asked.

"I lost count," I said.

"Is that why he didn't want me talking to you?" my stepmother asked.

"He doesn't let me talk to any of his wives," I said, "You're the only one who has bothered to spend any time with me."

"I am happy to help," said my stepmother, "I have had to take care of my mother and grandmother, too."

I tried to imagine a beautiful young girl taking care of her aging grandmother and a mother who worked as a prostitute. Even though she claimed to have had little to no dealings with her mother, I was sure that this had a negative effect on young Greta. On the other hand, this would explain why my stepmom had not married before.

"Thank you for helping me out," I said, "I'll just rinse off and go to bed."

"You can't go to bed all wet," my stepmother said, "You still need to dry off."

"I will be fine," I said.

I tried to reach for the towel, but sharp pains ripped through my arms. I paused. The pain was so severe that I let out a deep growl.

"Where do you think you are going?" my stepmom asked, "You have not answered my question."

"What question is that?" I asked.

"Am I supposed to kiss you now?" asked my stepmom.

"Why?" I asked, "What have I done for you?"

"You killed six people to protect me," she said.

"Maybe they are not dead," I said.

My stepmother tilted her head and looked at me with amazement. Her arms crossed as she stared at me in disbelief.

"Tom's brains were all over the parking lot," my stepmother said.

"Yes," I said, "That is true."

"If anyone survived that shooting," said my stepmother, "They would have already told the police."

"They were a bunch of thugs," I said, "Who would care about any of them?"

"Tom might be working for someone," said my stepmother.

"We don't know that," I said.

I was struck by my stepmom's persistence. I knew I could not resist her. Her lips were only a few inches away. I swallowed hard because I was facing a serious moral dilemma.

"So," my stepmom said, "Am I supposed to kiss you now?"

I shrugged my shoulders. I was not sure what to say next. Of course, I wanted a kissed from a beautiful woman, but I had a feeling that kissing my stepmom would bring my father's wrath on me.

"My father would kill me," I said.

"He would probably kill us both," said my stepmom.

Hurriedly, I tried to think of something witty to say. Maybe I could steer the conversation to a less explosive topic.

"I am sorry for getting all your underwear wet," I said.

My stepmother looked down at her underwear. Her bra strap had slid off for the twelfth time and her panties were completely damp. The fabric was clinging on to her skin and revealing the shape of everything underneath. Usually, this would be enough to produce an erection, but I was in so much pain. I tried my best not to weep like a little girl. Instead, I grimaced each time I moved my arms and hands.

My stepmother watched my face and knew that I was in great pain. Usually I would have enjoyed being in the shower with a beautiful woman, but I was not enjoying the pain.

"I guess you're too weak to try anything stupid," she said.

At that, my stepmother stripped off her bra and panties. She twisted each of them and let the moisture drip to the base of the shower. Once again, my stepmother revealed hairless crotch. Her breasts were perky and her nipples were hardened by the cool air circulating throughout the bathroom. Needless to say, my jaw dropped.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I am rinsing you off," she said.

My stepmom took the sprayer and washed off the soap off my body. Within minutes, I was free of the soap and she was drying me off with a towel. I looked away. That image of her completely naked in the shower with me would be a cherished memory forever more. Still, I had no time to enjoy the view as my stepmother hustled me off to bed.

Once in bed, my stepmom threw some blankets over me. For most of my life, I slept in my underwear, but tonight I did not care. This time, I was going to be completely nude under the covers. My stepmom carefully tucked my hands and arms under the blankets as her perky breasts hung down onto my face. Her nipples seemed to poke out and I wondered if my stepmom was teasing me on purpose. When I failed to reach up and grab her breasts, my stepmom spoke to me with her face only inches away.

"You really must be in a lot of pain," said my stepmom.

I nodded helplessly.

"I am taking you to the doctor tomorrow, okay," said my stepmom.

"Sure," I said.

Without warning, my stepmom leaned forward and pressed her lips onto mine. I wanted so much to wrap my arms around her, but that was not going to happen tonight. We pressed our lips together for what seemed like an eternity. For a moment there, I felt no pain. Perhaps I had been without a girlfriend for a long time. Perhaps I was trying to get back at my father. Perhaps I was relishing the salacious nature of a forbidden love. Whatever the reason, I felt friendship, love, and sexual attraction all at once. It was transmitted with one lengthy kiss.

When our lips parted, my stepmom sighed. I watched her facial expressions in the hope that she felt the same way.

"You are not supposed to be sexually attracted to your mother," said my stepmother breathlessly.

I blushed. I knew she was right. Still, I didn't think of her as just a sexual object. I wanted to be her best friend and confidante. I wanted to be her constant companion. I was starting to lose my soul to her subtle charms. I cast my gaze downwards in shame.

"I know," I said, "You are absolutely right."

"We can't be kissing like this," said my stepmom, "Especially since we are both naked."

"Right," I said, "It is a good thing my father is not here."

"This is his house," said my stepmom, "He could burst through that door at any time."

"I am so jealous of my father," I blurted out.

"Why?" asked my stepmom.

"I wish you married me instead," I said.

My stepmom blushed. Her eyes grew big.

"We only kissed once," said my stepmom, "Why would say that you want to marry me?"

"That was a great kiss," I said.

Once again, my stepmom blushed. She looked at me through the corner of her eyes. One eyebrow was raised.

"Are you trying to flatter me?" asked my stepmom.

"No wonder my father married you," I said, "You really are a good kisser."

My stepmom didn't know if I was joking or not. Lovingly, she patted me on the shoulder.

"You must be in a lot of pain," said my stepmom, "People say the strangest things when they are in pain."

At that, my stepmom left my bedroom. It was an absolute thrill to watch the muscles in her posterior as she walked away. Suddenly, I had a vision. It was a vision of Greta having sex with my father. I cringed. I tried to remove the image of my father having sex with her before I threw up.

I sighed. I knew he did not deserve her love. My father found her first. Thus, I would always be the man on the outside, and I hated it.

To my surprise, my stepmother returned without putting on a bathrobe or anything. This beautiful creature slowly walked up to my bed with a glass of water and pills. The glass of water was strategically placed over her mound of Venus. Her other arm was placed across her nipples for some measure of modesty.

"Mike," said my stepmom, "I got your pain pills."

"And nothing else," I said.

My stepmom helped me sit up. She motioned for me to open my mouth and dropped the pills inside. Afterwards, she brought the glass up to mouth so I could drink. The pills slid down my throat.

"Tomorrow," said my stepmom, "I have my exercise class first thing."

"Okay," I said.

"I will send my mother to help you get dressed," said my stepmom.

"Thanks, mom," I said.

"Hopefully my mother will keep her clothes on," said Greta teasingly.

The next day, Betty helped me get me dressed and my stepmom drove me to the hospital. My stepmom took me to see the lovely, Dr. Ludlum. The doctor was a beautiful brunette with brains to match her stunning figure. Dr. Ludlum was as frail and thin as Greta, so the two of them got along nicely.

After a few x-rays, Dr. Ludlum discovered that I broke a finger in each hand. Fortunately, the casts protected my arms. Unfortunately, the broken fingers were radiating pain up and down my arms since the bones were pinching the nerves. To no one's surprise, the doctor ordered two larger casts to replace the originals casts. This time, the casts would include the injured fingers. The whole process took most of the morning since that they had to remove the old casts and create new ones.

By the very end of the process, I was exhausted because I had been asked to twist, turn, and hold still in strange positions. At the end, Dr. Ludlum sat my stepmother down for one final out-patient talk. At first, it was all about the broken arms and fingers. Dr. Ludlum elaborated on what I could and could not do with the casts. When that was finished, Dr. Ludlum asked the final question.

"Have you been stimulating your penis?" asked the doctor.

Needless to say, the question caused me to choke. I knew I was blushing. The question was so embarrassing. I had a hard time talking to a woman about my reconstructed penis, much less a gorgeous woman like Doctor Ludlum.