Waking Up to Ellen Ch. 02

Michael was surprised. "You mean that was the first time anyone's, um, you know, 'touched' you like that?"

"Mm-hmm," she murmured nodding before adding softly, "and you're the only one to have kissed me there."

His heart skipped a beat and his cock started to stiffen. He felt an innate sense of pride knowing that he had been her first in something. "Do you have any fantasies or anything you'd like to try with me?" he asked hoarsely.

Looking up, she held his gaze; her voice was husky, and her smile was sultry. "I have a few."

His cock lurched.

"Just because I look like an angel, doesn't mean I want to be treated like one all the time," she added with a grin.

He kissed her voraciously, rolling her onto her back and moving between her knees.

They made love a second time, Michael pounding into her hard and fast, driven by thoughts of fantasies yet to be fulfilled. Ellen moaned loudly, thrilled by his passion, and urged him on. Minutes later, their cries of pleasure reached a mutual crescendo as they both came, and Michael collapsed on the bed beside his mother with a final groan, exhausted. The room went silent again as they cuddled contentedly.

***

Ellen glanced at the clock, sighing. "I need to go, sweetie."

"Why? Dad's going to be watching the second game for at least another hour." He snuggled closer to her.

She kissed his forehead and extracted herself from his arms. Standing, she began to get dressed, feeling her son's eyes on her as she did so. "I told him I was going on some errands. If I don't come home with a few bags from Target, he's going to wonder."

"Thanks to you," she continued, smiling and bending over to kiss him again, "I'm already sweaty and sticky, so at least I don't have to actually go to the gym."

"Well, can I go with you?" he pleaded.

"Michael, you didn't leave with me before, how will we explain it if you come back with me?" She looked exasperated.

"I just want to be with you," he implored, feeling exasperated himself.

She kissed him for a third time, this time on the lips, long and lovingly. "Well, why don't you help me with dinner tonight?"

"Okay," he said, less than enthusiastically.

She slipped out of his room. He lay in bed watching the door, wishing she would change her mind, walk back in and cuddle with him until the world ended. He couldn't stand being without her. Knowing he would see her again soon made it easier, even if it was just to help in the kitchen. When it was painfully obvious that she was gone, he made his way to his shower, immersing himself in the spray and thinking of her until the water ran cold.

***

An hour later the garage door rumbled open. Ellen was home. Michael resisted the urge to run down to greet her knowing it would be more prudent to wait. Soon enough, she would be coming upstairs to freshen up after checking in with his dad, and he could greet her properly then.

Standing from his desk, he walked to the bedroom door and stared down the corridor toward the stairs. Feeling awkward, he walked back into his room and sat on the edge of the bed. That was worse. Trying to find a balance between casual and eager, he moved about his room, sitting here, leaning there. Nothing felt right. He sat down at his desk again and stared at his laptop, half-wondering what he could Google to get advice. 'How to look cool while waiting for the woman of your dreams?'

He was still staring at his laptop when Ellen poked her head into his room. "Hi, sweetie!"

"Hey, mom!" Jumping up, he strode across the room and took her in his arms, holding her tightly. Bringing his mouth to her ear, he softly whispered, "I missed you."

"Michael, I wasn't gone that long!"

"Well, it felt like days." He began to nibble on her neck, causing her to squirm.

"That tickles! Michael, stop!" She broke away from him and tried to look stern, but her smile betrayed her. "I need to get in the shower, put on some clean clothes and start dinner. Why don't you meet me in the kitchen in an hour."

"Sounds good," he said, holding onto her hips, "but can I have a kiss first?"

Her smile widened as she nodded and leaned in.

***

Michael stared at his clock for an hour, restlessly fretting in his chair, then headed downstairs. As he neared the kitchen, he heard his mom quietly laughing. Assuming she was on her phone, he wondered who she would be talking to. Turning the corner, however, he drew up short. His dad was there, standing behind Ellen, his arms wrapped possessively around her, his mouth near her ear. Michael felt a surge of anger buffeting his chest.

Seeing Michael, Ellen extracted herself from her husband's arms and straightened her blouse, smiling brightly. "Hi, sweetie! How was your afternoon? Did you get a lot of studying done?"

His dad guffawed and put a hand on her hip.

Twisting away, she admonished him, nodding her head in Michael's direction, "Bill!"

Michael saw she was still smiling broadly. He felt nauseous. Bill looked at him expectantly and he realized he hadn't answered his mother. "Y-yeah. I got a lot done," he said weakly.

His dad smirked.

"Your dad's offered to help with dinner tonight, do you want me to come get you when it's ready?"

"Sure, yeah, thanks mom." Dejectedly, Michael turned from the doorway and made his way to the stairs, moving faster with each step. A greyhound couldn't have caught him by the time he reached his bedroom. With his last bit of rationality, he controlled his frustration and didn't slam the door.

Once inside, he paced anxiously, a million emotions reverberating throughout his skull. Anger, jealousy, fear, resentment, confusion, anguish, regret, worry...

Worry. He worried about his mother. To his knowledge, his dad had never laid a hand on her in anger, but what if he had found out? What would he do? Was she okay? She must be feeling cornered, alone, fearful.

He quietly opened his door and put his head in the hallway, listening. He could hear their voices but not their words. Laughter punctuated the conversation, lessening Michael's concerns, but, all the same, he left the door open as he went back to sit on his bed. With each laugh that drifted up the stairs, his worry warped into jealousy until his stomach was in knots. He flopped back onto his bed, catching the scent of lavender and vanilla as his head hit the pillow. He pulled the pillow over his face and breathed deeply, vainly hoping to calm his nerves.

***

Ultimately it was his father who came to get him for dinner. Bill found him lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Michael didn't look over or greet him. Bill stood in the doorway for a while, looking around the room, oblivious to the mental daggers his son was hurling his way. "Hey, Mike, looks good in here, did you do some cleaning?"

Michael glanced at him before answering. The odd smirk was back on his dad's face. "Yeah, this morning."

Bill nodded knowingly until it felt awkward for them both. "Nice! Well, anyway, your mom's got dinner on the table. Wash your hands before you come down."

Michael watched his father walk away until he heard him on the stairs, then placed his hands over his face and groaned. "Fuuuuck!"

***

His parents were already eating by the time he made his way to the kitchen. A nearly empty bottle of wine stood at the center of the table. His dad was leaning close to his mom, talking softly with her. Another pang of jealousy hit Michael in the gut, and he nearly turned and sprinted back to his room, but his mother caught his eye.

"Hi Michael! We just started. You'd better eat before it gets cold." She smiled sweetly at her son and looked meaningfully at the empty chair across from her.

Dutifully, he made his way to the table and sat down; every step, every move of an arm, every glance at his parents, every thing about him feeling awkward and unnatural. He was certain their eyes were boring into him as he grabbed the nearest bowl and started mindlessly spooning its contents onto his plate. But when he looked up, they were deep in quiet conversation, smiling at one another. His dad's hand rested on hers, his thumb stroking her fingers lightly. Michael recognized it as something he had done as well and what little appetite he had was lost.

Dinner was a waste. Michael pushed something green and something beige back and forth across his plate, but ate little, and tasted less. The tables were turned on him, as his father engaged his mom in lively conversation while he contributed nothing. It was only the scraping of the chairs across the tile floor that brought him back to reality. Startled, he looked up to see his parents clearing the table.

Grabbing his plate, still laden with his dinner, he stood and began to help, a glimmer of hope welling inside him. This was when his father would disappear downstairs, turning on the television and losing himself in some ancient movie. Michael would finally be alone with his mom. He would be able to kiss her, hold her, tell her how much she meant to him. Holding his breath and keeping one eye on his father, he took his plate to the sink and set it down.

"Michael! You didn't eat anything! Aren't you hungry, sweetie?" His mother's eyes were filled with concern.

"I'm good, mom. I had a snack while you were gone," he lied.

"Well, put that in some Tupperware, you can have it later."

Michael turned to go to the cabinet where the containers were stored, but his father was already there, pulling a tub and lid from the pile. "I've got it, Mike. Why don't you go watch TV or something. I'll help your mom tonight."

Helplessly, Michael watched as his father filled the Tupperware and snapped the lid into place. Stowing it in the refrigerator, he put his arm around Ellen's waist and pulled her close to kiss her cheek. She smiled at Bill and leaned against him as she stacked the dishes in the sink.

Michael silently made his way upstairs to his bed and watched the ceiling fan spin until his alarm forced him to face another day.

***

School was hell. Anxiety kept Michael awake through his classes but keeping him awake was all it did. With his mind fixated on his mother, he might as well have been in Timbuktu as sitting in a lecture hall. It would have made no difference to his education certainly.

When the last of his classes ended, he dragged himself to his car, driving home with the hard rock station blaring to keep himself from nodding off. Safely at home, he lumbered up the front steps and into the living room. He glanced at the couch and considered taking a quick nap but talked himself out of it. He desperately wanted to see his mother and feared he would sleep until morning if he laid down. Instead, he went to the kitchen in search of caffeine and sugar.

***

"Hey Mike!"

Michael nearly slammed his head in the refrigerator door. He hadn't heard his dad come up from the rec room.

"Hey dad, how's the game." He shoved his hands in his pockets, hoping his dad wouldn't notice them trembling.

"Good, good." Normally, Michael's dad would have rambled on about the players and the stats and the outrageous calls the refs had been making but he clearly had something else on his mind. His smile made Michael even more uneasy. "So, um, you're home earlier than usual. Anything going on?"

"No, no. I'm just a bit tired and stressed out. Midterms and all." The more he tried to act normal, the more abnormal he felt. His dad was going to see right through him.

"So, no big date or anything?" Bill raised an eyebrow.

Michael felt queasy. His dad had never taken an interest in his relationships. "No, not tonight," he said, then, noting his dad's smile transitioning to a frown, he quickly added, "Maybe this weekend though."

"Great!" his dad said, brightening, then lowered his voice conspiratorially. "So, listen, Mike, I don't suppose you remember what time your mom typically comes home from her dance class, do you?"

The question caught him off guard and he answered without thinking. "Yeah, she should be home in about an hour, but sometimes she stays behind and talks to some of her friends."

"Perfect, thanks Mike!" He rocked on his heels for a moment and cleared his throat. "Well, I'm going to get back to the game. You want to come down and watch with me for a while?"

"No thanks, dad, I'm going to grab something to eat and maybe take a nap or something."

"Okay, well come on down if you change your mind."

Michael watched his dad disappear downstairs then leaned against the nearest counter, his head in his hands. "Oh, FUCK!" he muttered.

***

Forty-five minutes later, Michael was startled from his sleep when Bill stepped into the kitchen again. "How are you holding up, Mike?"

"Huh?" Michael lifted his head, a string of drool connecting his face to his poli-sci notes. "Oh, crap."

Bill laughed. "You look like hell! Why don't you go to bed?"

"I can't. I need to see mom." His heart stopped as he realized what he had said.

His dad looked at his watch. "Well, she should be here in ten or fifteen minutes. But you really should go to bed right after. You aren't doing any good studying in this condition."

"Yeah, okay, I will."

Bill opened the fridge and grabbed a beer.

Michael watched him expectantly. 'Okay, you've got your beer, now go downstairs.'

He rummaged through the drawers until he found a bottle opener.

'Okay, you've got your beer and an opener, now go downstairs.'

He pried the cap from his beer.

'You're missing your game, dad, go downstairs!'

Setting down his beer, he put the opener back in the drawer and threw the bottle cap into the trash.

'Just go the fuck downstairs!'

Grabbing his beer from the counter, Bill walked to the table and sat down across from Michael. "So, how's school going?"

The voice in Michael's head screamed but, taking a deep breath, he managed to answer calmly. "Fine, I'm a bit worried about a couple of my exams, but I think I should do okay with most of them."

"Need any help studying?"

"No offence, dad, but what do you know about politics or economics?"

"Not much, but if you have a practice exam, I could quiz you."

"Thanks, but no."

"You sure?"

Michael nodded resolutely. It was clear his dad wouldn't be going anywhere soon.

"Alright, don't say I didn't offer." Bill leaned back and took a long draw from his bottle.

***

"Michael, we need to talk," Ellen whispered sharply as soon as Bill stepped out of the room, "Stay here, I'll be right back."

Michael watched her receding back as she chased after her husband, wondering what the hell was going on. His mom had been home for twenty minutes and, much to Michael's chagrin, his dad had been there since she had arrived. He had been attentive, as a good husband should be: Kissing her when she walked in, helping her with her coat, and asking about her dance class. Michael could barely contain his jealousy and frustration - being there for Ellen was what he did, not his dad! And now she wanted to talk to him. He didn't have time to worry over it before she strode back into the kitchen.

"Come on, grab your coat," she said walking past him and into the mudroom.

She was already in her car by the time he got to the garage. Michael climbed in. "Where are we going?" he asked, his cheek pressed against the glove box as he tried to tie the shoes he had hastily thrown on.

"I didn't want to worry about being interrupted, so I told your dad that you're anxious about something to do with your girlfriend and wanted to talk to me. So, we're going to get something to eat and talk." She looked grim.

"Dad knows I don't have a girlfriend," he protested, more confused than before.

"No, he knows you do. After he heard us on Sunday, I told him you'd been seeing someone for a while, but it must have gotten serious recently." She smiled, but there was a hardness to it that Michael found unsettling.

"Dad heard us?!" His voice cracked.

"He told me last night as I was starting dinner. He seemed proud of you. I think he was beginning to wonder if you would ever have a serious girlfriend." Now it was his mother who was smirking.

"I honestly don't know if that makes it better or worse, mom," he grumbled, "Is that why you wanted to talk?"

"Partly." Ellen said it with a finality that made clear he would have to wait a while longer to get a more complete answer.

***

Dinner was quieter than usual. Ellen was starving and didn't want to talk until she had taken the edge off her hunger. Michael, too anxious to talk or eat, just watched his mother, waiting for her to finish.

When her plate was nearly empty, he broke the silence, quietly asking, "So, what did he say when he told you he heard us?"

"He just asked me if I knew that you had a girlfriend." Ellen fidgeted in her seat, not looking up.

"And what did you say?"

"I said yes, but I didn't know much about her." She pushed a bit of lettuce around her plate.

"And?"

"And he said, 'Based on what I heard this afternoon, they know each other pretty well.'" Blushing furiously, Ellen looked at Michael for a moment before dropping her eyes again.

"So, he doesn't suspect it was you in my room?" asked Michael, feeling as though he might be able to breathe again.

"No, he seems convinced you have a girlfriend."

He wanted to feel better, but the tone of her voice made him uncomfortable. Uneasily he asked, "So, we're good, right?"

"No, we're not 'good', Michael! In what way could we be 'good'?" she said throwing her napkin on the table and glaring at him.

"But if dad doesn't suspect..."

"We got away with it this time, but what if he recognizes my voice, or catches me coming out of your room, or, worse, in your room?" Ellen struggled to keep her voice down and glanced around the nearly empty restaurant before continuing. "Michael, we need to stop. I need to put a stop to this. I didn't mean for it to... I shouldn't have..."

Her words dissolved into tears, and she hung her head, unable to look at him.

Michael sat clenching his jaw, worried he might vomit if he opened his mouth to speak. He reached for her hand, but she pulled back, dropping her hands to her lap, beyond his reach. Desperately he croaked, "Mom?"

She retrieved her napkin and dabbed at her eyes before taking a deep breath and looking at him resolutely. "There's more you should know."

"What?" His voice was barely audible.

"I was in the kitchen when your dad told me he had heard you and your 'girlfriend'. He came up behind me and held me tight. I almost called him sweetie, but I caught myself. He doesn't hold me the way you do. As he was describing what he heard, he started cupping my breasts, running his hands over my thighs, pushing himself against me. Hearing you...us...turned him on. He said it reminded him of when we were younger." She took another deep breath.

"What? What'd he do?" He knew the answer before he asked.

"Michael, I made love with your father last night." The words came out in a tumble, then, more calmly but quietly, she added, "It felt good to be wanted by him again. It felt right being with the man I married."

Michael slumped down and watched the bubbles rising in his soda. They were both silent.

Ellen wondered what was going through his head.

Michael could only think of how far he had fallen in the last twenty-four hours. His voice cracked when he finally spoke. "I don't know what to say."

Her motherly instincts were screaming at her to comfort him, hold him, do what it took to ease his pain, but she held herself back fearing it would only make things worse.

He finally looked up from his glass. "Why are you telling me this?"

She thought carefully about her answer. "I guess I hoped it might bring some clarity to you somehow. Maybe if you could see just how complicated our relationship would be, maybe you could see why I can't let it continue." She dabbed her eyes again. Her words were beginning to catch in her throat. "But I also needed to tell you because I do love you in my own way, not just as your mother, and you have a right to know. I'm already lying to one man in my life, I don't want to lie to you too."