Slugger

It was a creepy night. I gotta start with that. There was damp crispness in the air, as it had rained most of the day. In fact, this time in April, it seemed to rain every day.

I got out of my truck and stepped in a puddle. Damn! I always seemed to park right over the same puddle every time. I mentally reminded myself that I should fill it in the next time the driveway dried out as I slipped into the garage.

As I shimmied between my mom's car and the wall, I mentally ran through my checklist of why I was home. Two Xbox controllers, and a bag of Doritos. A bunch of guys from the baseball team were congregated at one guy's house, and we had run short of both Doritos and controllers.

I unlocked the door to the house, and closed it quietly behind me. It was already 10:45, and Mom was often in bed by then. I didn't want to wake her if I didn't have to.

The door had just clicked shut when from behind me I heard a sound that had no good connotations: Breaking glass. Especially to me, who it brought back flashbacks.

My mind immediately sank back to the incident last summer that had brought to climax events that had been building since before I was even born.

My mom was a seventeen year old high school senior when she had started seeing the contractor her father, the pastor, had hired to replace the roof on both the church and the rectory.

Her father, the good minister, had no idea that the roofer ended up nailing his daughter as well as his roof. After all, my mother was a good girl, straight A student, headed off to college in the fall.

Unfortunately, those plans fell apart when my mother became pregnant. Mom's cloistered upbringing had only taught her the evils of contraception, not the benefits, so nature took its course and I appeared.

The phrase 'shotgun wedding' may not have been wholly figurative in their case, and six months after marrying my father, my mother had me during a January snowstorm that was still talked about in the small town where we lived.

Even though my parents married, the pastor and his wife still wanted nothing to do with their 'teenage mother' daughter and her husband that was nearly twice her age. The fact that they saw me as ruining my mother's chance for 'making something of herself' did nothing to help my relationship with my grandparents either, and by the time I was in middle school, my mother just stopped trying to get along with them.

The most contact I had with my grandfather after that was to watch him rain down fire and brimstone from the pulpit every Sunday. Yes, even after everything that happened, my mother still attended his church, an exercise my father used to insult every Sunday when we came home.

Despite their earlier transgressions, I was an only child who grew up learning the roofing and general construction trade from my father from the time I was old enough to hand him nails.

My father became one of the more successful contractors in the area, his success due more to my mother's business acumen in taking care of 'the books' than anything else. In fact, by the time I hit middle school; Dad wasn't only building roofs but the entire house, and had several crews working for him at any one time.

From eighth grade on I spent summers working for him. Roofing, 'his first love', was the worst, so that was what I got stuck doing. Carrying 50 lb bundles of shingles around and spending all summer in the sun may have given me a cut physique, deep tan, and full pockets, but I hated every minute of it.

Mom knew this, and used it as an effective motivation for me to work hard in school. Despite my father's dream of me being a professional baseball player, which he had passed on to me, I just didn't have the skills, so I knew I had to make it at something else.

By the start of my junior year, I had gotten in the routine of studying a couple hours every night, even on the weekends. Mom usually sat in the living room, sewing, reading, or watching television as I would sit at the kitchen table, working through whatever mental obstacle high school had thrown at me that week.

That was what I was doing, working through a physics problem regarding refraction of light, when my father came in.

I could tell right away he was drunk. Dad's drinking had gotten progressively worse, and since today was Saturday that meant he'd been down at the bar since the doors had opened at noon.

I looked up from my studies to see dad holding one of my college brochures, squinting at me. He was looking for my reaction, which I gave by going back to my homework.

When my dad was drunk, he would decide that college was a waste of money, and that I could just work for him after graduation. To my mother, of course, this hit too close to home, and it was one of the few things she couldn't help herself from arguing with Dad about, even when he was drunk and unreasonable.

Having decided I wouldn't provide him the answer he wanted, he staggered past me into the living room. Thirty-plus years of manual labor, especially kneeling on roofs, had shot my dad's knees and back, and he walked with noticeable stiffness. Add in the balance of a drunk, and he was by no means striding as he went by me.

"What the fuck is this?!" I heard him loudly say to my mother.

Her answer and the next few minutes of their argument were drowned out by the headphones I wore while studying. What wasn't drowned out were my father's statements that "We'll spend the money on a new truck for him... He'll get more use from that" and "Over my dead body is he going".

I sighed, hoping that my father would finally come around to realize Mom wasn't budging when I heard the crashing of glass. Removing my headphones, I heard the sounds of struggle in the living room mixed with the sounds of the television.

Getting up, I leaned around to see the sight that was burned into my memory. Mom was leaning back in her rocker, fear in her eyes. Dad was leaning over her, his hands locked around her neck in a fierce grip.

Mom wasn't a small woman. It was only in the past two years that I finally past her 5'11" height on my way to 6'4". But dad was a bear of a man, 6'2", and easily 250 lbs, more fat every year, but still formidable.

Knowing what had to be done, I looked down to see my father's softball bat that we used in backyard games. It was a heavy wooden bat, much heavier than the aluminum bats I used in high school games.

The weight worked to my benefit though, as I swung it heavily into my father's ribs.

His breath left him in a big "Whooph" and he collapsed over the side of the chair, momentarily stunned and grasping for breath.

My mother, her own hands still touching her throat, looked at me. I saw the absolute terror in her eyes.

"Go upstairs and lock yourself in the bathroom" I said calmly. I offered her my hand, and helped her out of the chair. I could see the red finger marks around her neck as she ran past me and up the stairs.

As I stepped beyond the chair over my prone father, I could hear a door slam upstairs. Taking a deep breath, I put a knee in my father's back, I pinned him to the floor. Slipping the bat up under his head, I pulled back, raising his chin.

This was not the first time my father had threatened my mother, but this was the first time I knew of that he had touched her. It would also be the last.

I allowed Dad's breathe to return, and then pulled back on the bat, choking him as he had moments earlier choked my mother.

"That was your last strike. If you aren't out of this house in sixty seconds, my next swing will be at your head."

My voice was much calmer than I was. I released his head, tapping the back of his head lightly with the bat. I backed up from my father, wary that in his rage, he might come at me next.

A few seconds after my knee left his back; he raised himself up with his hands, and spun, looking at me. His face was a mixture of fear, surprise, and anger. I saw him size me up, so I took a light swing with the bat, reminding him of what had just happened.

He got the message, and slowly worked himself to his feet. He looked around, and not seeing my mother, headed for the front door, watching me the whole time. I stayed between him and the stairs the whole time, until finally he was out and I was able to close the door and set the deadbolt.

Memories of that night were running through my head as I slowly, but purposefully, stepped from the back hallway into the kitchen. Seeing no one, I looked into the living room, much as I had a year prior.

Mom had replaced the couch and chair since then with a sectional, so it wasn't her chair she was in this time, but rather the couch.

Her position and the man crouched over her, was much the same. I saw that they had knocked over the vase next to her, and saw that mom was struggling with this unknown male. "No-no... Stop" That was all I heard. There was no bat this time, but it didn't matter as I grabbed the guy and threw him on the floor. I jumped on top of him, one hand on his throat, the other cocked to unload a punch on his face.

"Who the fuck are you?" I growled, my eyes locked on his.

"I'm her date, you little prick. Get off me." He struggled a little, but was clearly overmatched in strength.

"Didn't look like a date to me. Mom, what's going on?" I looked over to my mother, who was trying to cover herself with the tatters of her shirt.

"He... he... too far" was all that came out before my mother broke down crying.

It was at this point her 'date' decided to punch me. The blow glanced off my cheek, but it didn't matter. He gave me an excuse, and I used it to land a couple hard lefts on his cheekbones and then his nose.

"What the fuck is wrong with you! Let me up" he screamed now, more fear and less anger in his voice.

"You need to go" I said, and stood up, bringing him with me. I'm pretty sure his feet didn't hit the ground until after I had run him into the front door, tossed it open, and tossed him out into the yard with a 'thud'. I stood on the threshold, watching him get up and stumble to his car, which was parked him the street. After he'd started it and squealed away, I turned away and went inside.

Mom wasn't in the living room when I turned back inside, but I heard movement upstairs, so I headed that way.

The master suite was at the end of the hall, and it was from that bathroom I heard water running. I stepped to the doorway, and saw mom inside, in front of the sink, washcloth on her face.

She stood there, her shirt in tatters, wiping her face. I watched her for a second, gauging her mental state, and then spoke:

"Mom, what just happened? Who was that guy?"

She finished wiping the remaining make-up off her face, and stared at the sink, rinsing the washcloth off as she answered me.

"Jerry was my date tonight. He... he wouldn't take no. Said I owed him." I could see her hands shaking as she said it.

She broke down again after that, crying into her wet hands. I stepped inside the bathroom and hugged her, pulling her close to me.

We stayed that way for awhile, her teary face pressed into my chest. Finally, as she calmed down, I led her out to her bedroom, and straight into the bed. Covering her up, I sat on the edge of the bed, stroking her arm as she shuddered into her pillow. The intensity of the moment was only broken by the buzzing cell phone in my pocket.

Having forgotten about my reason for coming home, I squeezed Mom's hand, and stepped into the bathroom to answer it. Telling my friend's something had come up and that I wouldn't be back, I hung up and stepped back into the bedroom.

Mom had fallen asleep now, her face on her tear-stained pillow. I shut off the light in the bathroom and went back into the hallway, pulling the bedroom door silently closed behind me.

Sitting in the living room by myself, I reflected on the months since I threw Dad out.

After the night I hit him, we never saw dad again. I made Mom get a restraining order for both of us, so the only contact we had was our lawyer talking to his.

Honestly, the rest of my junior year and start of my senior year didn't progress much differently after that. It wasn't like Mom had started dating every weekend or anything. She really seemed more focused on getting me into college and out of the house successfully. In fact, tonight was only the second date I knew she had been on.

I locked up the house, fishing the softball bat from the garage and setting it on the floor next to the sectional, where I settled to watch some television.

It was there I awoke the next day, squinting in the sunlight that was streaming in the window onto my face. I found myself under a blanket, and threw that off and sat up.

Stretching my frame from the curled-up position I had slept in, I set my feet on the floor, stretching my arms and shoulders.

I heard soft footsteps behind me, and turned just as Mom leaned over to kiss me.

"Good morning, Slugger" she said, as she kissed my forehead and sat down next to me.

Slugger had been her nickname for me since I was 7 and in T-ball, because I would always swing for the fences then, spinning myself around if I missed the ball, and sometimes even if I made contact.

"G'mornin' Mom. What time is it?"

"A little after eleven. I let you sleep in."

"Thanks, I guess. How are you doing?" I asked the question tentatively, unsure of the answer.

Mom looked out the window, hiding her face from me.

"I'm okay honey. Don't worry about your old mother."

"Mom, you're not old, and are you sure you're okay?"

She turned back to me, and I could see her eyes welling up again. I reached out and wrapped my arms around her again, enclosing her protectively.

She didn't bawl this time, but I saw a tear roll down her cheek.

"I just wanted to be young again. And date. And have fun. And..."

She sniffed now, breaking her sentence.

"Mom, its okay. It was one bad night."

"I know, but it always seems to happen to me. I always choose the wrong guy."

"Aww Mom, c'mon, it was one bad guy."

"Baby, if you hadn't come home..."

I felt her tremble a little as she said what both of us had been thinking.

"But I did Mom."

"I know."

Her hand came up and stroked my cheek now, and for the first time I realized how entangled we had become. Mom was half on my lap, her chest pressed against mine, and I could feel her breasts crushed between us. She was only dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, and I was breathing in her pleasant scent. One hand was pinned between us on my chest and the other continued to stroke my face.

"You've always been there for me, honey." She said calmly.

"Mom, you've always been there for me too."

"Not the same. This is twice you've saved me from..."

"Shh... Let's not talk about it."

"I feel like I owe you, somehow." She sounded like she had something else to say.

"Mom, you don't..."

"No, I do. I -- I don't know what to give you yet, but I owe you something special."

The phrase 'something special' triggered another memory, this one considerably different. It was from Homecoming the past fall.

Besides baseball, I played football and basketball like any good small-town athlete. My athletic prowess attracted female attention, but a lot of the girls just wanted some 'hot' on their arm, and ignored you if no one else was around. I didn't enjoy that, so my date to the Homecoming dance was Beth, a female friend who was already a freshman at the local community college. We weren't dating, but after the dance, everyone else coupled up, so we were stuck together in someone's basement surrounding by intertwined hormonal teens.

Deciding this wasn't for us, we'd slipped out, and I'd walked her home. At her porch, just before she went into her house, she'd turned around and said:

"I had a really great time tonight. I feel like I owe you something special."

That time, something special had been a quick blowjob on her back steps that ended too quickly with her spitting out my seed into the bushes.

I remembered it because that was as far as I had gotten with a girl. Mom's years of church and lectures had kept me from copulation, as had a reluctance to drink due to Dad's dependence on it.

As I sat there with mom, the memory of Beth's blowjob caused my cock to harden a little, a fact which didn't escape Mom's attention.

She blushed a little, recoiling from me just a little.

"S-sorry Mom. I didn't mean to." I blushed now, my face flushing with embarrassment of Mom feeling my boner.

"Its okay honey. It's a natural reaction, I guess."

"To what?"

"To having a woman on your lap. I guess I should be flattered that I can still get a man hard."

"Mom, you're still gorgeous. Your problem isn't getting them hard, it's what happens after."

Mom giggled, the first time she'd laughed since last night. She grabbed my head, pulling my cheek down to kiss it.

I could smell the shampoo in her jet-black hair, and my cock jumped again.

Mom giggled again, and whispered huskily:

"Is Mommy doing that to her little boy?"

I nodded, completely embarrassed now. My hands, which had wrapped around Mom, started to pull back now.

"Its alright baby. It makes Mommy feel sexy." She grabbed my hands and pulled them back around her, shifting her body so that she was fully on my lap now, her legs perpendicular to mine.

"M-mom?" I asked, confused.

"Shh. Just sit here honey. It makes me feel safe." Mom rested her head on my chest as she said it, her hand stroking my well-defined pecs.

I started to rub her back now, and I heard Mom make was seemed to be a purr. She lifted her head off my chest, and looked up at me.

I looked back at her, smiling, happy that she seemed to be over the night before. She smiled back, and then caught me completely by surprise as she stretched up and kissed my lips.

The first peck was a little beyond motherly, and the second was way beyond. I was too shocked to act as Mom's lips locked with mine, her hand slipping around my head and stroking my hair.

When my body unlocked from the total freeze Mom had put me in, I pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss.

"M-mom?" I asked again, even more confused than the last time I asked it.

My mom looked up at me, a little shame and fear in her eyes.

"Please baby, I need this."

I wasn't sure what she meant as she kissed me again, but my teen hormones took over, and I kissed her back.

We sat there on the couch making out for what seemed like forever before Mom finally broke the kiss. Escaping from my grasp temporarily, Mom stood up, hovering over me.

Reaching down, she lifted her shirt up over her head, exposing her bra-less breasts to my virgin eyes.

Mom didn't have huge tits, and I won't lie and say they were perky like a teen's, but for a 36 year old woman, Mom had a great pair of C's.

With her height, she was a skinny woman, and her tits jutted out proudly, topped by a pair of silver dollar aureoles and erect, half-inch nipples that were at full attention.

Standing there, her long, thin arms stretched up behind her head, Mom watched me study her tits silently. Finally satisfied with my gaze, she leaned into me, placing a knee on the couch between my legs and shoving my head in between her breasts.

Not knowing what to do, I started to kiss and suck, finally finding a nipple which I captured between my lips and sucked like a hungry baby.

Mom must have liked what I was doing, because she moaned and gasped as I suckled her teat. She led me from one breast to the other and back, before finally stepping back away from me.

Turning back away from me, she flipped her curly black hair over her shoulder and bent in two, stripping her skin-tight shorts down off her body. She did have a baby-blue thong on, but that went with, showing me her heart-shaped ass and the beginnings of her pussy, topping her long, shapely legs.