Chapter 2

Gary was upstairs when John came home from work and remained there through dinner which proceeded as usual, quiet except for the sound of chewing, knives and forks scraping on plates, and the occasional clink of a wine glass returning to the table. Quiet, that is, until I explained my idea to John.

“You’re joking, right?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Gary’s sick. There’s something wrong with him, and flirting with him isn’t going to fix it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with our son. He’s just been bullied. All he needs is a reason to go back outside and the confidence to do it,” I retorted.

“And you cavorting in front of him is going to do that?”

“No,” I drawled. “My ‘cavorting’, as you call it, will make him think of girls and that will make him want to rejoin the land of the living.”

“It’s a little unconventional, Joan.”

“Not really. Boys always have a thing for their mothers, don’t they?”

“Sometimes. If they’re not ugly, I guess,” John laughed.

“Your mother was attractive when she was younger. Did you have the hots for her?”

“I’m surprised you have anything nice to say about my mother,” John neatly side-stepped the question.

“I said when she was younger and quit avoiding the question. Did you think about her when you were a teenager?”

“I suppose.”

“I suppose?” I laughed.

“Yes, I guess I did, but I was much younger than Gary. I think it’s a little late for a maternal fixation.”

“Uh huh. So what first attracted you to your Mom?” I persisted.

John leaned back, crossed his legs, uncrossed them, then crossed them again.

“I don’t remember.”

He didn’t want to talk to me about it but, knowing me, knew it was unavoidable. I suspected he was trying to buy time to think of how little he could get away with telling me.

“Yes you do.”

John took a deep breath. Resigned, he said, “I guess it was ... one day I was watching her hang clothes on the line, something I’d seen her do a million times before, but this time, as she was stretching up, she lost her footing and almost fell. Well, as she reached out to grab the post to keep from falling her hand knocked a button off her blouse. When she hung up the next shirt, I could see her brassiere and quite a bit of her breasts feeding into it. I watched her hang the rest of the clothes and later, when we were having lunch, she hadn’t fixed the blouse. I watched her all day.”

“Naughty Johnny. Think how we could have spiced up a few nights if you’d told me this years ago,” I teased. John ignored me.

“The thing was, Mom didn’t fix her blouse all day but just before Dad came home, she changed it. That night, I woke up and heard my parents having sex. Mom was particularly loud. I had heard my parents having sex before but it was just the sound of the bed springs and my father huffing and puffing. From then on, though, I heard Mom almost every time. I stayed awake on Saturday nights because I knew they were going to fuck. On Saturdays, if Mom forgot to do up one or two of her buttons, I couldn’t wait until bedtime because I knew she’d be enthusiastic. She always was on those days.”

“Jesus, John. No wonder your mother never liked me.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Did you ever...”

“No,” John interrupted. “That’s all Mom ever did.”

“For how long?”

“Years, I guess. After Dad died, she always had her blouse partly undone when I visited alone.”

“Even after we were married?”

“Yes,” John replied. He spoke so softly I could hardly hear him.

“John. I’m just trying to get Gary interested in girls so he’ll quit hiding in his room.”

“I know, Joan. It might work, but be careful.”

“Be careful?”

“Yeah. Don’t get to liking it like my mother did.”

“John, don’t be ridiculous. It’s not something I’ll enjoy, it’s something I’ll do for our son.”

“I know.” John’s voice was still low. His mind was somewhere else.

“You might have to be scarce for a while. Not that you haven’t been already.”

“Why?”

“It’ll take time for this to work and Gary needs to know that we’re alone and not in danger of being surprised.”

“I thought you were going to say we need to start fucking really loud.”

“We haven’t been fucking so I don’t know where that comes from.”

“Joan...”

It was my turn to interrupt.

“Actually, I don’t think we should have sex for a while. I think it might help if Gary thought I wasn’t getting any.”

“Why would he think that?”

“Because we haven’t been doing it. You haven’t exactly been here.”

“Joan, I...”

“I don’t want to hear it and I don’t care anyway. I don’t know whether you’re getting it somewhere else or if you’ve just lost interest, like me.”

I reached out to grasp John’s hand.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you were. I know I haven’t been here for you. Look, we’re both stressed out but if we can fix this thing with Gary, I think we can fix ourselves as a side benefit. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?”

“Okay. I’ll stay out of the way, for our marriage.”

“And for our son.”

“Of course, but just a little flashing, okay?”

“Of course. What do you think we’ve been talking about?”

For the rest of the week, Gary and I settled into an after lunch routine. I waited for him to come down for lunch, finished mine while he made his, and we both went to the living room. I exercised while Gary ate his lunch and watched TV, and me. After every session, Gary waited, his eyes fixed on the TV and the pillow held firmly on his lap, while I massaged the doll. He always waited until I went upstairs. Within a minute, he would rush by the open door of my room and I would sneak down to his closed door to confirm what I already knew.

John kept his word and came home later and later, missing dinner three times that week. Near the end of the week, Gary appeared downstairs in the late afternoon. I happened to be making a Moroccan dish. Gary didn’t explain his appearance. He simply sat down at the kitchen table and watched me move about the kitchen. I was wearing a wrap around a body leotard, almost my uniform these days.

I talked constantly, partly because I was nervous and partly to make Gary comfortable. It was meaningless chit chat, nothing requiring a response and so relieving him of any pressure to do so. I was simply trying to make the situation seem normal while my body movements made it anything but.

When I was finished, I sauntered over to my son and got him to taste my creation, leaning over and delicately inserting several olives into his mouth, one at a time. It was an innocent act, though seductively executed. The leotard and wrap covered me completely but Gary looked at my breasts anyway. I asked him if he would help me make some new dishes the next afternoon and he agreed.

The next day, Gary didn’t rush by my room so fast. I was sitting on the other side of the bed with my back to him. I heard him pause and knew he was right outside my door. I stretched my leg out high and straight, leaned forward and pushed the leotard off my foot, then did the same for the other. Somehow, I managed to twist sideways a little so my breast swung out far enough for him to see its swollen fullness. I stood then, slowly so as not to startle him, and walked, stark naked, into the bathroom, pausing in the doorway to turn on the light, then turning and disappearing from his sight, allowing a brief glimpse of my breasts in full, thrusting side-profile.

I could hear him before I even got to his door, breathing harshly, erratically, the sound of his fist furiously beating his cock. When I turned away, I was surprised to find my hand covering my own sex.

The next day, I happened to be looking at the TV when the screen went blank and I saw Gary’s reflection. He was holding the pillow with his left hand and slowly stroking his cock with the right. I stifled a gasp and almost stopped moving but caught myself and acted like the exercise had just become particularly strenuous. I was shocked. I had initially assumed Gary was just getting hard while watching me and even entertained the notion that he might be touching himself under the pillow too but to actually see him stroking his bare cock, even in the dim reflection of the blank TV screen, was a tad unsettling.

I guess I shouldn’t have been that surprised. After all, it had been a week. I imagine when Gary first started touching himself, his cock grew big enough to poke through the hole in the front of his pajamas. Over the week, it was a natural progression to touch it, even take it out and stroke it, secure in the knowledge that I never, ever turned around to look at him. Perhaps I had done my job too well.

That same day, while Gary helped me make some gourmet snacks and actually chatted with me, I asked him if he would keep me company outside in the sun. He was hesitant at first but succumbed to my will after twenty minutes of wily, womanly cajoling. Gary did sit on the patio lounges with me but steadfastly refused to venture farther from the safety of the house. Nevertheless, it was an amazing accomplishment in our small world.

Later that afternoon, while in the mall on some errands, I ran into Sandra and then Vanessa, both mothers of boys Gary had played with when he was younger. We became good acquaintances if not friends attending games and stuff with the kids. I always liked Sandra and admired her greatly and her kid was nice whereas Vanessa’s was a bit of a brat. Without thinking about it, I told Sandra about the doll and how I had accidentally stumbled upon a plan to lure Gary from his room. She seemed a little shocked but relaxed when I explained that I simply wanted to revive his teenage instincts sufficiently for him to want to rejoin the planet. Sandra laughed and remarked that she doubted she would be able to entice her own son in such a way so thankfully there was nothing wrong with him.

“Oh gosh, Joan. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean ... oh, I feel just terrible.”

“Don’t worry. I know you didn’t mean anything. It has been hard, Sandra, and I’m ready to try anything. I have no idea if this will work. So far, I’ve only managed to get him to come downstairs for lunch and sit in the patio. In fact, I don’t think he’s really interested in my old body, he’s probably just hungry.”

We both laughed, and a few minutes later, Sandra left. I wasn’t worried that she’d say anything. Sandra was a private person and I was confident she wouldn’t tell anyone about our conversation.

Before I left, Vanessa passed by and sat down. I knew Vanessa was having tremendous difficulty with her own son and knowing that she knew about the problems we were having with Gary, I confided my success, perhaps primed by the sympathetic reaction from Sandra.

I was tentative at first but Vanessa’s obvious interest loosened my tongue. I didn’t spill everything but let enough out that she knew I was trying to use womanly charms to encourage Gary to get out of the house. Vanessa was captivated by the approach and I see in her eyes she was already planning how she could do the same thing to curb Billy’s juvenile behavior.

“I think Billy’s getting into drugs,” she confided.

“You’re kidding?”

“No. Gary isn’t?”

“No, definitely not. At least, I don’t think so.”

“I’m not a hundred percent sure about Billy either but he’s getting out of control and something is driving it. I’ve got to do something about it. You say this teasing thing really works?”

“Well, I’m not sure yet but I’ve managed to get him out of his room.”

“And you used a doll?”

“Yes, from this Voodoo woman.”

“Voodoo woman? Oh, you mean that black woman with the strange store across from the mall?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

I wished I hadn’t said so much to Vanessa and wanted to limit the damage so I didn’t explain the connection with massage therapy. The last thing I wanted was Vanessa dropping in to interrogate Jenny and gossiping about my success with Gary. Thank God, that was enough for Vanessa and she left soon after. As I watched her confident, former-model body steer between the food court tables, I pitied her brat son. She reminded me of my mother-in-law, God rest her soul. Billy didn’t know what he was in for.

The next day, I managed to capture several glimpses of my son in the blank TV screen and confirmed what I thought I’d seen the previous day. Gary was definitely stroking himself while he watched me. And why wouldn’t he? I never, ever turned around to look at him while exercising so he should feel safe to touch himself until I finished my routine, which by now he probably knew by heart.

Far from feeling I had gone too far, I was tremendously pleased. His obvious desire raised my confidence in the plan. The motivation was there, all I had to do was continue leading him down the path to its eventual, inevitable conclusion.

I found a way to reward Gary for his trip out to the patio. I stopped mid-routine and, inanely complaining about being hot, removed the bathing suit, and left myself clad only in the body leotard. I wasn’t wearing a bra or panties. It was like I was naked, except for a second skin. I carried on with the rest of my routine and even extended it with exercises I made up on the spur of the moment, anything that allowed me to stretch and arch my body.

It was an outrageous exhibition, one which made me feel deliciously naughty. I squirmed and preened on the floor in front of my son without shame, knowing there wasn’t an inch of me he couldn’t imagine naked under the tight black leotard that covered me so revealingly. I denied the thrill I felt as anything but exaltation in the knowledge that when I asked, Gary would willingly follow me anywhere in the yard I asked him to go. Next week, I would talk him into accompanying me to the store, just the corner store, and I wouldn’t even ask him to get out of the car, but it would be a huge step and I was positive now that he would do it. My plan was working!

Finally, I stopped, exhausted. While I lay there, breathing heavily, knowing Gary was watching my gently heaving bosom, a thought entered my mind and I acted upon it before considering the consequences.

“Gary?”

He gasped. I had never spoken to him before while exercising. There was a rustle as he frantically covered himself, probably learning too late how difficult it was to conceal a hard, springy cock.

“Yeah,” he croaked.

“Be a darling and get my doll from the kitchen for me.”

“Your doll?”

He was stalling, likely afraid to get up until the big lump in his lap subsided.

“Yes, my massage doll. I left it on the kitchen table.”

“Uh...”

“Come on. I’m so exhausted I can’t keep my eyes open.”

I closed my eyes and opened them a slit just in time to see Gary go past. In the kitchen, he turned toward the table to retrieve the doll, exposing the reason for his hesitation. The front of his pajamas looked like a tent. I was impressed by its size. I shut my eyes as he returned.

“I put it on the couch,” he said.

“Can you do me another favor?”

“Mom ... what?”

“Can you massage the doll for me?”

“Awww, Mom. I’ll feel silly and, anyway, I don’t know how to do it.”

“It’s easy, you just rub it gently, all over, and it isn’t silly. It really helps me.”

“Mom.”

“Please?”

“Oh ... okay.”

There was a rustle as Gary picked up the doll.

“You just rub it?”

“Mhhhmmm,” I murmured, wiggling to ready my body for its ‘massage’. “Start with the feet and work your way up,” I suggested.

I waited half a minute then sighed, “That feels good.”

After that, I was silent except the occasional murmur or pleased sigh. Periodically, I wiggled. I suspected that after a few minutes, Gary rubbed near my breasts so I arched my back slightly and purred. I opened my eyes a slit but couldn’t see what he was doing except to note that he was enthralled. I think I could have sat up and looked right at him without being noticed.

“Oh, that feels good,” I murmured.

Despite his initial objection, Gary seemed to enjoy massaging the doll. I was sure he wouldn’t mind doing it more often, maybe even both before and after my routine. I rolled over onto my tummy, twisting so my bum was pointed toward my son, and parted my legs a little.

After thirty seconds or so, I sighed and arched my ass up a bit, tensed my legs and glutes, relaxed, and settled back into the carpet. I repeated this every minute or so and squirmed my ass around. I couldn’t have been more obvious unless I got up on my hands and knees and turned around to pout at him.

I gave Gary lots of warning when I was ready to quit, giving him time to put the pillow in place. I leaned over to kiss him on the forehead in thanks, adding a longer one on his cheek, my lips just catching the corner of his mouth.

“Thanks, son,” I husked.

I sauntered slowly up the stairs, exaggerating the sway of my hips and pushing my bottom out with each step. Once in my room, I quickly removed the leotard instead of just pushing it down so Gary could covertly watch me slip it off my feet before I stepped into the bathroom for my shower. I lay back on the bed, covered my eyes with a crooked arm, arched my back to push up my naked breasts, and waited for the sound of his footsteps. When they arrived, I held my pose for a couple of minutes, sure he was watching, then lazily turned away from him onto my side. There, I let my upper knee slide off the other onto the bed and pulled it up a bit, positioning my exposed ass in its most inviting pose.

I don’t know how long Gary watched me so I waited for a long time. At some point, I dozed off.

For the rest of the week, Gary massaged the doll for me while I squirmed around appreciatively on the floor in front of him. I had replaced the mat with a comforter to provide a wider range for movement on the floor. My stretches were always more languid during the ‘post’ massage than in the warm up and by the time we were done, I was very warm indeed. I may have been doing this to save my son, but it wasn’t a hardship. Being the focus of such intense appreciation was like doing a feel-good drug, mellow yet stimulating.

I toyed with the idea of getting Gary to actually touch me. I could just turn around, maybe while lying on my back, and stretch my feet up for him to massage directly rather than via the medium of the doll. I thought hard about the potential benefits of direct touch but eventually vetoed the idea as too dangerous, thinking about the effect on my son. Had I though about the effect on myself, I would have realized how dangerous it really was.

In the afternoons, Gary followed me around the yard, helping with the gardening and just generally keeping me company. I always wore a loose blouse and usually baggy or tight shorts but sometimes put on a short skirt. There was plenty of opportunity for Gary to look down my blouse or peek between my legs as he stood above me while I squatted or kneeled to work on the garden. Initially, I had worn my flimsiest bras, the ones designed to be worn with an evening dress or a low-cut blouse, but on Thursday I went braless because I was working up to getting Gary out of the house altogether, just a short trip to the store.

On Friday, Gary arrived downstairs to find me eating my lunch dressed only in a body stocking. It was much like the leotard but it was flesh-colored rather than black, and thus easier to see through. The legs were shorter, extending barely halfway down my thighs instead of to my ankles, and both the back and the front dipped low, the back rounded while the front dove into a deep V.

I had found the body stocking while searching the bottom of a drawer because, what with one thing and another, I was behind with the laundry and had run out of leotards. I held it up to the light but rejected it as too revealing. On second thought, I held it up again and whispered, “Wow.” A delightfully wicked feeling shimmered through me so strongly I ignored my nattering conscience which quickly faded as I sat down on the bed and pulled the stocking on.

When he first saw me, Gary stopped dead in his tracks, mouth open. I didn’t tease him, I just quietly handed him the doll.

“We’re late. Why don’t you warm me up ... uh, massage the doll, while I make your lunch.”

Gary sat down, his eyes soaking in the body stocking, or more accurately, the parts it didn’t cover so well. I glanced at him and he started massaging the doll.

“I want you to have some fruit,” I said. “You’re going to get scurvy the way you eat.”

Gary nodded in the compliant manner he had adopted of late. I put his typical two pieces of toast in and then brought him a banana. Since he was holding the doll in two hands, I peeled it for him, slowing pulling down each strip, and nibbled a small bit off the top before handing it to him.

Before Gary could release a hand from the doll to take it, I said, “Oh, right, you’ve got the doll. Here, I’ll feed you while you work on the doll.”

I put the banana to Gary’s lips, “Go ahead.”

His thumbs rubbed up and down the front of the doll as I pushed the banana into his mouth, leaning over in an exaggerated fashion to give him an eyeful.

“They’re good, aren’t they?”

I put the banana into my own mouth, lifting Gary’s eyes from my breasts. They widened when I pushed the banana deep into my mouth and then slid it all the way out.