What Would You Have Done?

Mom paused and her bold openness was astonishing. This was not like her.

Squeezing my hands tighter, she continued, speaking fast, "I shouldn't tell you this, but I can't keep secrets from my man... your father was a lousy fuck," My mind screamed, YIKES!

"But at least he would let me use my toys to get off; or sometimes he'd use them on me. You don't have a problem using toys do you? Of course not, your younger generation is so lucky. You don't have to beg a man to shave. If I'm fully shaved, actually I get waxed, then why can't he trim down there. Do you think I want to stick my face in front of something that looks like an out-of-control forest? Do you think I wanna lick someone's asshole if there's a tangle of brush blocking the way?

"No way, not me," my mother shockingly informed me. Before I could formulate a thought, she continued, "...but I'm sure you keep everything clean, right? Oh! I need you to get tested yourself. They'll do a full screening here, I already found out. Tell them whatever you have to 'cause no clean bill of health, then you ain't getting none."

Mom paused for a second and my mind was spinning. 'What the fuck is she talking about?' I wondered.

Then she started up again, "Oh! I got a new bed. They delivered it yesterday. It's wonderful. I couldn't sleep on that old one knowing your father was doing who knows what on it. I've been sleeping in your bed; it helps me feel close to you. I know you don't mind. Maybe I'll keep sleeping there until you get home, then we can break in the new mattress, what do you think? That would be fun, huh? I got a queen-size this time, I hope that's alright, I don't think we'll need all the extra space, do you?"

She spoke without pause. I tried to follow along but I was clueless what she was babbling on about. What did it matter to me what size bed she had?

"I also got a new bed frame. I think you'll really like it. Both the headboard and footboard are of black iron," using her hands, she drew in the air, "with these swirls that end with flower bulbs at the end. I found out the flowers are tulips. Isn't that funny? Two lips? But it's not girlie at all, in fact it looks like a guy's bed. With my man not home, I had to have the delivery guys set it all up."

She paused for a breath. I had a thousand questions but before I could say a word, she resumed her rambling, "Those two guys were hot, and I mean hot. I thought of taking them both just to spite your father... but I couldn't do it, do you know why?"

Baffled, I just shrugged. "Because I couldn't do that to my man, I've told you 'we're gonna do this together', and I mean it. If that means me having to be a good girl until you get home, then so be it." She leaned across the table and planted a kiss upon my hanging open mouth. "I love you so much, I can't wait until you get home, we're gonna have so much fun!" I looked around the visiting room wondering who abducted my mother and replaced her with this crazy woman.

CHAPTER VIII

Unfortunately, Monday wasn't as much fun.

I met my lawyer, Ms. Sylvia Plath. She was 50-something years old, thick, and everything about her shouted seriousness. After the introductions, she informed me, "Mr. Seymour, I'm not going to beat around the bush, or blow sunshine up your ass. If you want that then tell me and I'll find another attorney to represent you."

Her no nonsense attitude was reassuring. I felt that I was in good hands, until she lowered the boom. She explained that last week my father testified at the Grand Jury and was pushing for me to be indicted. Like every other schmo, I had no idea what she was talking about. Seeing my confused expression, Ms. Plath explained the differences between misdemeanors and felonies; and how the Grand Jury works, how they decide who is charged with a felony. Ms. Plath then explained the difference between the legal world and common sense.

Emotionlessly, she ticked off my mistakes:

1) My father's whore was saying she never said, "Stop" after initially saying she did. However, that was a minor issue, Ms. Plath said.

2) I should've called the police instead of entering the house if I thought there was something wrong;

3) I should've called the police before entering the bedroom;

4) After punching my father the first time and throwing him to the floor, the threat to the woman or myself was removed and I should've stopped. By continuing, I became the aggressor.

5) Yelling "I gonna kill you," multiple times showed my intent to injure or maim.

6) Fleeing from the police demonstrated I grasped the consequences of my actions, thus was sane throughout the act.

7) Yelling "I gonna kill you," in front of the police validated I am still a threat to my father, justifying an Order of Protection and being denied bail.

8) That I did not surrender after the first tazing, justified the police's further attempts to restrain me.

9) According to the police, I attempted to flee by jumping off the upstairs balcony. By withstanding four tazings, this demonstrated the severity of my rage.

"Basically I am fucked?" I asked.

"No, it's my job to show the other side of picture. And Brand, I am very good at my job," Ms. Plath calmly replied. I still didn't feel very optimistic.

CHAPTER IX

Tuesday morning they woke me up for Court at five in the morning and was herded downstairs to sit in the bullpens. An hour and a half later, the C.O.'s had us shuffling, handcuffed and ankle-shackled, through an underground tunnel to the courthouse and placed us in smaller bullpens to wait. For an eternity, I sat there wondering what was going on; what time it was, as the bullpens were dark, windowless cells with no clock; and as time dragged on, I started thinking about all the crazy things my Mom had been saying lately.

Pondering her comments only lead me to more questions, such as:

What the hell did she mean when she called me "her man"? Was she saying some Portuguese phrase that was not translating right? Why was Mom telling me about beds? Or even crazier, Why did she tell me about her and my father? And as much as I was enjoying it, What the hell was up with her kissing me on the lips? Was that a Portuguese thing or a Norwegian one?

I had no answer for any of these, except the thought my Mom was coming on to me, but that seemed preposterous. Maybe the vase upside my head had me imagining things that weren't there. This seemed more believable than after beating the dickens out of my father for fucking some other woman, Mom felt I was now her man and when I get out we're gonna be a couple sleeping in the same bed.

After centuries past, a court officer called me out of the bullpen to meet with my lawyer in a tiny closet of a room. Ms. Plath sat there looking stern and dour. The officer looped my handcuffs through a buckle bolted to the table, and left.

"I didn't know who your Guardian Angel is," Ms. Plath started, "but you better thank your lucky stars. Although the District Attorney got the indictment from the Grand Jury, she has decided not to follow through with it. Instead, she is willing to allow you to plead guilty to 4th degree Assault, which is a Class B misdemeanor. You'll be sentenced to 30 days, of which you'll have to do twenty days. You have six days in already; so basically, another two weeks. In return, you will have to sign a waiver on the right to sue the Police Department for excessive force.

"You can refuse this plea, but the D.A. will then file the indictment. I think you have a good chance to win and be found not guilty at trial," she emotionlessly stated yet my ears perked up. Then in a stern lecturing drone, she explained, "However, it can take up to a year before your case goes to trial; and if you lose, you will face years in prison.

"Now with this plea, you'll have to do another two weeks in jail; since it's a Class B misdemeanor, you will not have to list it on college or job applications. You will have to waive your right to sue, and you would've won that.

"As to your father, an Order of Protection will remain in force for two years, at which point he can petition to renew it. However, while you must stay 500 feet away from him, the Judge will also order him to remain 500 feet away from your dwelling, place of school, or place of employment.

"Brand, by law I cannot tell you whether to take this plea offer or not. Still I think this is going to the best offer you'll get, and that you should thank your Guardian Angel because most people don't get this."

Since I thought my Guardian Angel was sitting across from me, I didn't need any extra time to think about this. Plus to get this over with, I knew, would be a blessing for Mom. I told Ms. Plath I'd take the offer and, since my hands were handcuffed to the table joked I'd shake her hand if I could. She told me what to expect when called into the courtroom. She called for the officer to unlock the gate. As she left, she gave me a grandmotherly hug and said, "You did the right thing."

Escorted back to the bullpen, I wondered if she meant taking the plea or beating the snot out of my father.

An hour, or maybe three hours, later they summoned for me to appear in the courtroom. I pleaded guilty and gave the Judge a quick rundown of what happened.

Apparently, there were two people not happy about today's events. Before the Judge handed down his sentence, he let my father speak. My father, looking bruised and banged-up, railed how this was a travesty of justice; that he opposed this decision; about how for years I was out-of-control and disobeyed him; and that this leniency would only encourage more of this behavior. He probably would've rambled on some more. Except the other unhappy person jumped up, interrupting him.

"He's the one that belongs in hell... he's the Monster... he's the Piece of Shit..." Mom began screaming.

By then, the Judge was banging his gavel, ordering the court officers to escort my protector out of the courtroom. As a court officer took her by the arm she screamed, "My son's a hero... He should've killed the bastard... My son's a..." and out the door, she went.

I just stood there next to Ms. Plath, who looked mortified. After everything settled down and my father stormed out, the Judge sentenced me to 30 days. As the court officers went to take me back to the bullpens, Ms. Plath asked, "Any questions?"

I asked if she meant, You did the right thing, was taking the plea or beating the snot out of my father. With a coy smile she replied, "That's something you'll have to figure out."

Later that evening, I was called for a visit. I got there before my visitor because the booth assigned to me was empty. Waiting, I saw her enter through the double set of electronic gates. She had changed clothes and was wearing a snug black tank-top with spaghetti string straps. Silk-screened onto the front, in white creative cursive letters, it boldly shouted, FREE BRAND

She wore form-fitting black jeans that hugged her frame before they dove into black leather boots that had at least four-inch tall gold heels and gold tips. When I stood-up, she ran into my embrace and started crying. Through her sobs, I was able to make out, "Oh, Brand, I'm so sorry... I hope you're not mad at me."

Getting her to sit down I asked, "What are you talking about?"

After she finished sobbing and wiped her tears away, Mom started her rambling dialogue:

"Oh, Brand, you don't understand how much I love you. I knew I loved you before, I just tried to reject it and tell myself it wasn't so. Then after what you did for me, I knew you loved me and I couldn't deny it anymore." Grabbing my hands, she continued, "Brand, I Love You.

"Then hearing that bastard talk about you that way, I couldn't take it anymore. I know you'll do anything to protect me, and hearing him say those things, I couldn't let him say those things about my man, not him, not anyone. Do you understand what I'm saying?" Mom inquired.

Having no idea what she was saying, I did the male thing. I shrugged and said, "I understand and I love you, too."

Looking earnestly into my face, Mom pronounced,

"I'm gonna fuck your brains out when you get home."

CHAPTER X

Time stopped.

The Guardians of the Universe stopped time to allow me to go pick up my brain and the bits of skull it had exploded through, because my mind was blown away! As I returned my brain back to its proper place and glued the pieces of my skull back together, thoughts raced through my mind.

Did my mother just say that?

Three hours ago, I was thinking, 'Two weeks. Well, it'll be a low budget vacation from reality.' After what she just said, I instantly calculated it was 324 hours remaining until released. As I waited for the glue holding my exploded cranium to dry, I thought, 'Thank god, I wasn't drinking anything because I would've spit it all over her.' Then I wondered how my Mom would look all wet in her outfit. Finally as the glue was setting, I realized I needed to do something smooth once time resumed.

Time started again.

I did the only thing I could think of. I pulled Mom's hands closer to me, and leaning across the table, kissed her. I felt her try to continue our kiss. I had to break it quickly before I fell into her charms. Seriously, I can't be making out with my own mother in a county jail visiting room, right?

"I love you, Mom." She smiled as if she had just eaten the sweetest chocolate ever.

She leaned toward me. Looking around, she whispered, "Do you know how hard it's been for me to hide how I've felt? And then this happened and it made me realize how special you are to me. You're my man and I'll do anything for you."

"You're special to me too, Mom, and you know that." I paused to gather my thoughts. I confessed, "It's just that I'm kinda surprised."

"Why?" Mom wondered quizzically. "I've known how you've felt for a long time."

I started to say something. She put a finger on my lips, and in a humored tone, she confided, "I'm your mother, you think I couldn't tell? Brand, do you really think you could hide something like that from me?"

With an embarrassed laugh I admitted, "I guess not. I'm sorry, Mom."

"For what? Watching you watch me helped me feel better about myself; it helped me know I am still desirable; it helped me get through some dark nights. Now about this Mom thing, if you want to you can call me Stephania or Steph." Smiling, she continued, "You are my man right?"

"Forever!"

CHAPTER XI

I won't bore you with what happened during the next 324 hours, except to say I became well read. While waiting those 47 hours for my next visit with Stephania, all I did was read.

As for those visits with Mom, well just imagine the most perverted conversations you could have with your mother and you'd be getting close. The most difficult part was listening to my mother discuss her preferences with anal sex or how she experimented while in college. She told me about how she was masturbating on my bed with some of her favorite sex toys. As she boldly stated, "I have to get ready the fuckings I know you'll be giving me. I'm training for you."

After our visits, I had to get strip-searched and I'd be sporting a woodie! I had to wait until late at night to be able to jerk off to her stories. As to calling my Mom, "Steph or Stephania," I tried it a few times and it felt wrong. Trying it again, it felt so weird that she said, "Let's just stick with Mom."

In case you are wondering, yes I did get a clean bill of health so that I could get me "some of that"; and on the night before my release the C.O. allowed me to take a razor with me while I showered so that I could manscape. Unlike TV, the shower was a single stall in a locked sally-port, which the C.O. had to let the inmate in and out from.

CHAPTER XII

And finally, the day came. Sometime after 7 AM, I walked out the gate a free man. Mom was there waiting for me. She was dressed in my black leather jacket, a Free Brand tee shirt underneath, skin-tight black leather pants and stiletto heeled black boots. With her long black hair, pale skin and striking blue eyes, she looked like one badass angel.

She was sitting atop the hood of a car, but not any car. It was Grandpa Jan's 1968 Camaro, white with two blue racing stripes; under the hood was a 302 with a cross-ram twin carb. It was the equivalent to Clint Eastwood's Gran Torino. In the movie, nobody was allowed to drive Clint's car but him, and in real life nobody but Grandpa Jan drove his Camaro.

When I was about ten feet away from her, I dramatically intoned, "Well here I am, Baby Doll, a free man."

My girl slid off the hood and tossed me the keys. Catching the keys, it was another two strides before I was in her arms. I got my three kisses: left, right and center. Mom ordered, "Let's get the hell out of here."

As I sat into the driver's seat, I asked incredulously, "Grandpa Jan let you drive his Camaro?"

Seated in the passenger seat, Mom turned to me. With a smile, she informed me, "As long as you're taking care of his daughter, you can drive his car."

Turning the key, my new 1968 Camaro thundered to life. Resisting the urge to do a burnout in the parking lot of the county jail, I gave in to another temptation.

"Come here," I commanded. Mom leaned toward me over the center console. Putting my right arm around her neck, I pulled her to me. I kissed my mother like I wanted to for so long. She responded in kind, pressing her lips against mine. I held her tight against me and our mouths opened in unison; our tongues caressed each other's; our passion for each other burned. I was stiffer than the stick shift between us; and we kissed. Breaking our clinch, I said, "I love you, Steph." synchronized with her, "I love you, Brand." We laughed at our jinx.

It was time to get the hell out of this shithole. Before racing home, I needed to fuel up with some real food. I pulled in to the closest Golden Arches. Personally, I hate eating in a car like a savage. So no way was I going to eat in my '68 Camaro!

Inside McDonald's, as we stood in line, Mom wrapped her arm my waist. It felt so good, so comfortable, so natural. We ordered our meals, a couple of frappés and, of course, two of McDonald's fantastic hot apple pies. Picking up our order, no way in fucking hell was I going to sit in a booth again. I sat on one of the long benches that run along the sidewall, expecting Mom to sit across from me. As always, she surprised me. She slid in against me, hip against hip. "Never will I sit across from my man again," she informed me.

While we ate, she asked how it feels to be free. I gave a kinda 'whatever' shrug. Her hand dipped under the table and landed high up on my inner thigh. Looking at me, she said, "I know something that'll make it feel Real Good." Her hand breezed across my Johnson. I didn't care if we were in public, I kissed her. Breaking our kiss, she took a drink from her caramel flavored frappé. She then kissed me. Somehow, her mouth was empty, then suddenly she was sharing her drink without breaking our kiss. It was crazy, baffling and ultra-erotic how she did it! Seeing my look of aroused curiosity, Mom tittered,

"Oh, we're gonna have a lot of fun!"

CHAPTER XIII

After that, we got home lickety-split.

I parked in the driveway so I could proudly display one of my new toys. The other I planned on taking upstairs to play with. Still as eager as I was, there was a bit of trepidation. To prolong this moment of us in my car, I turned to Mom and ordered her to, "Come here."

Leaning toward me, I put my arm behind her neck. Pulling her to me, our lips met. Mom's lips were soft and tasted sugary sweet. Ending our kiss, I looked into her entrancing blue eyes and saw my own reflected back. We rubbed noses and giggled in unison. Tilting my head and closing my eyes, I kissed my love. I kissed my fantasy girl. I kissed my dream. I kissed my Aphrodite. I kissed my Mom. I kissed Stephania.