Forbidden Desire: Mother & Son

Forbidden Desire: Mother & Son

Golden Shadows

The 19-year-old Gwen’s voice traveled up the driveway. A little breathless, still punchy from the dumb jokes they volleyed back and forth on the ride back to Danny’s place. The porch light blasted them both in bug light yellow and shadows, and Danny squinted, trying to keep his smile from looking strained.

The young lady cut a striking figure under the pale glare—cheekbones cut sharp, lips slicked pink. She smelled of perfume and popcorn and the inside of his mom’s Honda.

“Look at this. A gentleman all the way,” Gwen said, teasing and swaying close, her keys jangling, and she fumbled them. Danny caught the keys and pressed them into her palm. When his fingers lingered too long, Gwen didn’t pull away.

“So, uh, you have a good time?” Danny kept his voice soft. Didn’t want the neighbors to hear. Or worse, his mom.

Grinning, Gwen said, “I mean, you did take me to a movie where the lead character was a sentient potato, so, yeah, best Tuesday ever.” She arched an eyebrow. “You always pick high art for first dates?”

“Wanted to impress,” he joked, and instantly regretted it, because his throat clamped up. He’d already run the checklist—she laughed at his puns, she touched his arm twice at dinner, she didn’t fake-text anyone for an escape plan. This was a win, right?

Gwen stepped in. Close, now, the outline of her bra under her T-shirt flashed every time she laughed. “Hey, want to know a secret?” Leaning in, her mouth at his ear, warm breath fizzing the hair on his neck.

“Always.”

“Yeah, see, I actually love bad movies. The worse the better.”

Not moving back, her nose brushed his jaw. When everything went blurry, Danny blinked. Gwen smiled, slow and private, and her lips found his.

Warm, vanilla, and a little tang from the cherry Coke. Her tongue flicked out, not tentative, but greedy. He kissed her back, letting her set the pace, because he’d never done this with someone so bold. Gwen’s hands cupped his shoulders, anchored him. Her pulse throbbed on him through her wrists.

Rising up on her tiptoes, her chest pressed hard against him. Danny lost balance and grabbed her waist, a sliver of bare skin where her shirt rode up greeted his touch. Giggling, she kept kissing, her hips bumping his.

Her hand snaked down, nails grazing his ribs, and lower, dragging at his waistband. Danny stiffened, caught between fight and flight. Gwen didn’t notice—or didn’t care. Her palm slid over the bulge in his jeans.

A jolt, electric. Not gently, she squeezed. Swelling instantly, his cock woke up, pressed against the zipper, and she froze, hand locked around him vicelike.

Breaking the kiss, Gwen said, “Whoa.” Sucking in a breath, her eyes huge. “Jesus, Danny.” For a beat, she stared at her own hand, at his face, and back down.

“Uh, sorry.” Trying to laugh it off, but it came out strangled.

“No, I—” She gazed at him, dazed. “You—are you, always this…” She trailed off, and the silence squeezed both of them.

“It’s fine. Seriously,” Danny said, his face red, heart banging in his ears.

Trying to smile, something wobbled behind her eyes, and Gwen said, “It’s… you’re, uh, um, wow.” Her voice dropped. “Never mind.” As desires tuned to fear, she wiped her hand on her thigh, turned away, and faked a cough. Her other lovers were average, and he, that thing was huge. No way was she going to take that monster in her mouth or anywhere else.

They both stared at the porch mat. A moth crashed into the porch light and spun in wild circles.

Danny had no script for this. The condom in his wallet—he bought it as a joke, never thought he’d need it for the radioactive chunk of fat meat in his pants.

Gwen stepped back. “Yeah, you know, I um, yeah—remembered, right this moment, I have to open at the cafe tomorrow.” Giving him a weird little salute. “Early shift, you know how it is.”

“Yeah, sure. Totally,” Danny said, though he didn’t.

“Tonight was fun. Let’s do it again sometime.” Rushing to her car, she unlocked it and slid in, the door slamming, a gunshot to his heart.

Pulling out, she gunned it, and her taillights shrank down the block. She didn’t so much as glimpse back.

***

Waiting for her son’s return, Molly’s book barely made it past the first chapter.

The words slid off her brain, refusing to stick, each paragraph erased by the soft click of the kitchen clock and the echo of her own thoughts. Checking her phone: 10:12 p.m., no new texts from Danny. A surge of worry, irrational and familiar, gripped her.

Don’t worry, he’s fine, she told herself. After all, he’s with a girl. She tried to lose herself on the next page.

She failed.

Still standing on the porch, Danny’s hands knotted in his jacket pockets, pulse still racing. He ruined it, somehow. Scaring her, or he grossed her out, or—he kicked the porch rail, hard. The wood creaked, but held.

He stared at the spot where she touched him, her hand warmth burned through the denim. Nothing was right. Not his skin, not his clothes, not his own bones. He fumbled for his house key, missed the lock twice, and shoved his way inside. The porch light snapped off behind him.

In the living room, the only sound was the soft purr of the dishwasher and the tick of the wall clock. He didn’t search for his mom. Trying not to feel anything at all, he stood in the darkness.

The front door clacked, followed by Danny’s footsteps in the hall.

Heavy, slow, not the skipping gait of a boy who scored his first real date. Molly set the book aside, spine up, and sat straighter on the couch. Smoothing her dress, she patted her hair and chided herself for the vanity. He’s your son, not a houseguest.

But she loved to put together his clothes for him, in case he looked at her and saw someone steady, someone worthy of trust.

A ghost in jeans and a sad t-shirt, he drifted into the living room. Shoulders hunched. Dropping onto the couch beside her, his weight forced the cushions to sigh. His head lolled back, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

Molly’s heart cracked and poured itself out.

“Bad night, sweet boy?” Leaning in, she crept close enough to see the pink where his eyes went raw.

“Not the best,” Danny said, and he grunted, not turning to her. Taking his hand, Molly twined their fingers. He didn’t pull away. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head, which usually meant yes, if you waited long enough.

Molly waited.

He broke first. “She—Gwen—she was kind, at first. Funny. We had a fantastic time. But it’s—” He stared at his lap, voice shrinking. “It’s always the same.”

Molly ran her thumb over his knuckles. “What’s always the same, honey?”

Danny squeezed his eyes shut. The words came out strangled. “We started kissing. It was wonderful. Then her hand, um, went down—” He coughed, mortified. “Um, she freaked. Called it a monster.”

Molly’s blood went ice, and fire. “Fuck no, she didn’t—she said that?” The words hit as an accusation, jagged and ugly.

“Not that,” he said, cheeks aflame, “but was what she meant.”

She pulled him into her side and cradled his head against her shoulder. “Oh, baby. That’s a cruel thing for anyone to imply.” Stroking his hair, she let her fingers comb through the tangles. “Listen, Mister, you’re not a monster. No, no, you’re my perfect, sweet boy.”

Hiding his face, he didn’t answer, but burrowed deeper into her side. Molly rocked him, humming a nonsense tune from his toddler years. She always defaulted to that when words failed.

Sniffing, his voice muffled in her dress. “Why does it have to be like this, Mom? I want to be normal. I want someone to like me. And now I have a date with Dinna tomorrow and I'm terrified.”

Cupping his jaw, she forced eyes to hers. “Listen to me, you’re normal. No, you’re better than average, you’re wonderful. Any girl would be lucky to have you.” She meant it, fiercely.

He gave a broken laugh. “Yeah, you have to say that.”

“No, I don’t.” She pressed a kiss to his temple, another to his forehead, and one to his cheek, dotting them like Morse code. “I only say things that are true, mister.”

The tension leaked out of his body, inch by inch. His eyes fluttered, tears beading but not falling. Gentle as dew on a flower, Molly wiped them away with her thumb.

He managed a shaky smile. “You’re the best, Mom.”

She smiled back, the warmth genuine and tinged with melancholy. “I hate seeing my boy hurt. If I could, I’d go find that Gwen and give her a piece of my mind.”