The Son Also Rises

Betty shook her head. I had to agree with Betty. My father's aversion to family photos seemed to border on obsession. In fact, I did not know of any pictures of me and my dad together.

"That is so weird," said Betty.

"I agree," I said.

"Your mother wanted me to talk to you," said Betty.

I looked into her bright blue eyes and waited for her to speak. Betty was absolutely stunning in her athletic pants and sports bar. The exercise clothes were tight to her skin and succeeded in smoothing out her figure. On top of that, I smelled her sweet perspiration. For these reasons, her close proximity to me made me happy.

"I know what is going on with you," said Betty.

"Sure," I said mockingly, "I want to know, too."

Betty looked at me the way a teacher looked at a student. Usually, I would have stepped out of the room. All my life, I had been the target of my father's many criticisms, so I was not thrilled about getting another lecture from anyone else. Still, Betty's thighs were warm and soft next to my bare legs. Perhaps, I was taking too many medications. I had no idea why I lingered so long in Betty's presence. She said she was twenty years older than me, but I was not sure.

"You are lonely," said Betty.

"Maybe," I said.

"How long have you been here in this house?" Betty asked.

"The accident was at least a month ago," I said.

"Have you talked to any girls since then?" Betty asked.

I thought about it for moment. Then, I sadly shook my head.

"I broke up with my girlfriend right after the accident," I said.

"Were you having sex with your girlfriend?" Betty asked.

"No," I said.

Betty looked confused. She frowned. Obviously, Betty did not believe a word I was saying.

"I only dated her so I can make someone else jealous," I said.

"I see," said Betty.

"I really wanted this other girl," I said, "I have been chasing after her all through high school."

"Are you saying you didn't like your girlfriend?" Betty asked.

"She was the most popular girl at school," I said, "But it was just a show."

"What?" Betty asked.

"My girlfriend didn't want to have sex with the boy she really wanted," I said, "So she dated me because I was too scared to touch her."

"How did that go?" asked Betty.

"Not too good," I said.

I sighed. I replayed the confession in my head and decided that my dealings with women were utter failures. I stared at the floor. A melancholy feeling swept over me. Was my entire life a complete failure? Maybe my father was right. I was just an embarrassment for everyone.

Betty gently nudged me back from my sadness. I felt her finger under my chin. She was trying to steer me back from despair.

"Thank you for sticking up for me the other day," said Betty.

"I could not let anyone take you away from me," I said.

"You make it sound like I am your girlfriend," said Betty, "I am probably twice your age."

"What is wrong with that?" I asked.

"You are just lonely," said Betty, "Once you get back with your friends, you'll forget all about me."

"You forget something," I said, "I don't have any friends."

"That is a lie," said Betty.

"Have you met my father?" I asked.

"No," said Betty.

"You won't like me once you meet him," I said, "He is not the friendliest person in the world."

"Don't you worry about Betty," she said, "I can handle myself around old men."

Before I could ask a question about that, I heard my stepmother's voice coming up the stairwell.

"Dinner is ready," said Greta.

Betty rolled her eyes.

"I can't stand another salad," said Betty, "I want some steak."

"If I have another kale smoothie," I said, "I think I will throw up."

"That stuff looks like grass clippings and water," said Betty.

I laughed.

"You know I am right," said Betty.

"Mike," said my stepmom downstairs, "Where are you?"

Betty and I looked down the stairwell and I promptly waved one broken hand at my stepmom.

"I'll be right down, mom," I said, "I just need to get dressed."

Without further delay, Betty pushed me back into the room. She helped me get dressed and carefully slid my damaged member into one of my pants legs. I didn't even bother wearing any briefs because I had yet to find any underwear that could accommodate my scarred shaft.

"Thank you," I said.

Then something strange and wonderful happened. Betty put her face in front of mine and gave me a small peck on the cheek. I blushed and Betty watched my reaction with a smile.

"What was that for?" I asked.

"I never thanked you for helping me out," said Betty.

"You are welcome," I said.

"Don't listen to what Greta says," said Betty, "Those men would have dragged me away."

"I think you are right," I said.

Before she could say another word, I stopped her. I shook my head. I did not want an explanation from her.

"I really don't need to know what happened in the past," I said.

Betty seemed surprised. There was an awkward pause.

"Are you sure?" asked Betty.

"I am not sure I want to know," I said, "It is no one's business."

Looking into my eyes, Betty seemed puzzled and amazed. I had the feeling she did not believe what I just said.

"You are the first man who has ever said that to me," said Betty.

I shrugged my shoulders. Even though I was curious about her past, I was not sure if I wanted to know all the salacious details.

"No one is perfect," I said, "I am not perfect and I should not expect anyone else to be perfect."

I smiled at Betty. Perhaps I was seeing the error of my old ways. For a long time, I had acted like a rich kid who did not appreciate all that had been given to him. It would not be long before I was going to be homeless and penniless. I had heard my stepmother's conversations. My father was going to throw me out on the street. To make matters worse, none of my rich friends were there to lend me a hand. In fact, none of them wanted to talk to me anymore. After the accident on the football field, no one returned my phone calls. I was going to be just another homeless person on the street, so there was no reason for me to be critical of anyone else. Who was I to be critical of Betty's past?

I looked at the beautiful woman in front of me and realized that she was my only friend. Who was I to judge her past? Her blue eyes looked at me with amazement.

Betty leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine. She slipped into my embrace and we kissed like old lovers. With her arms around my neck, Betty gave me the kiss of lifetime. I felt my resistance melting away. My soul was now owned by this woman and I could do nothing to resist her charms.

When I finally broke off the kiss, my member started to rise. The engorged member pushed against my pants. To make matters worse, Betty's warm hand was gently caressing my member through the fabric.

Betty looked up at me with a devious smile. She was very proud of herself. She was clearly enjoying my reaction.

"You are one naughty boy," said Betty.

I was confused. Was my penis really rising? The doctor said I had a slim chance of a full recovery. Was I really attracted to an older woman? Sure, Betty was well endowed. She also had a shapely figure because she worked out.

"What is going on here?" asked my stepmom.

I froze. Betty and I were still in each other's arms. She was dreamily looking into my eyes and I was smiling from ear to ear.

"Were you two kissing?" asked my stepmom.

At that, my stepmom pulled Betty away from me and dragged her down the stairs. I followed close behind.

At the dinner table, my stepmother seated Betty and I with a chair between the two of us. There was a green smoothie in a tall glass in front of me. I sighed. Suddenly, I no longer had an appetite. I turned and saw a glass salad bowl in front of Betty. Needless to say, Betty was not happy to see her dinner either.

After Betty went back to her room, I sat there talking to my stepmom. It was very uncomfortable.

"What was that all about?" asked my stepmom.

"We were just talking," I said.

"Why you were kissing her?" asked my stepmom.

"I am sorry, mom," I said, "It was an accident."

"What is wrong with you kids these days?" asked my stepmom, "Kids today are having sex at a younger and younger age."

"Sorry," I said again.

"Does your father know you are having sex already?" asked my stepmom.

"We didn't have sex," I said.

"She was grabbing your pants," said my stepmom, "How do I know what happened before I came upstairs?"

"Nothing happened," I said, "I swear."

"Why is she not wearing shoes?" asked my stepmom.

"Because I accidently peed on her shoes," I said.

There was an awkward pause. Then my stepmom started laughing.

"What is so funny?" I asked.

"Did you really pee on her shoes?" asked my stepmom.

"I didn't mean to pee on her shoes," I said.

"That is the funniest thing I have ever heard," said my stepmom.

"I can't seem to control the direction," I said.

My stepmom laughed some more.

"Relax," said my stepmom, "Your father pees on the toilet seat all the time."

Now, it was my turn to laugh.

"Is that really true?" I asked.

"And your father does not have anything wrong with his hands or arms," said my stepmom.

"I guess it runs in the family," I said.

"No," said my stepmom, "All men have the same problem."

I shrugged my shoulders. Who was I to argue with my stepmother?

At first, I was not thrilled with having a mother that was closer to my age. My stepmom seemed so innocent and sweet. What in the world was she doing with an old geezer like my father? My stepmother was frowning. She didn't seem to enjoy her present relationship with my father.

"Let me guess," I said, "Dad hasn't called again."

"Is it that obvious?" asked my stepmom sarcastically.

"This is my fault," I said.

Immediately, my stepmom squeezed my shoulder.

"Honey," said my stepmom, "Why do you think that?"

"Because my dad hates me," I said.

"He doesn't hate you," said my stepmom.

I looked over at my stepmom. Her tone of voice was not very convincing. Even she thought that my father's recent behavior was extreme.

"Okay," said my stepmom finally, "Accidents happen all the time, and your injury could have happened to anyone."

I sighed.

"I am sure my dad didn't like you taking my side," I said.

"I don't even know you all that well and I think he is acting like a jackass," said my stepmom.

"Can I be honest with you?" I asked.

"Sure," said my stepmom.

"I wasn't sure if I would like you," I said, "My dad never let me actually talk to you before he got married."

"That was his idea," said my stepmom.

"I didn't know that," I said.

"Your dad thought we might have problems getting along," said my stepmom.

"I appreciate you taking my side," I said, "That's the nicest thing anyone has done for me lately."

"You are quite welcome," said my stepmom, "Let's just try to make the best of the situation, okay?"

"Okay," I said.

That night, my stepmom came to my room. She was dressed in her silk nightgown with a towel around her head. I could see her smooth and beautiful legs when the pain started again. I winced in pain. My stepmom immediately notice and raced to my side.

"What is it, Mike?" asked my stepmom.

I pointed to my groin. Without asking, my stepmom pulled away the sides of my bathrobe. To my embarrassment, my mangled penis was trying to rise. The doctor had said that the veins would take some time to heal. As more blood pulsated through my penis, the more pain I experienced.

"Holy crap," exclaimed my stepmom.

Her eyes seemed to burst out of her eyes. I didn't know whether or not she was stunned or horrified. My stepmom just stood there. Eventually, my erection subsided and my penis dropped back down. Her jaws dropped as she examined my mangled penis.

I fell backwards on the bed. I was trying to catch my breath. The pain had subsided, but I was exhausted. I felt my stepmom lift my penis into her hands, but I was too tired to hide my shame.

"Holy crap, Mike," exclaimed my stepmom, "Did you just have a hard-on?"

"I am so sorry," I said.

"Am I getting you excited?" asked my stepmom.

I covered my face with my broken hands. I wanted to find a rock and crawl underneath.

"Please don't be mad at me," I said, "I don't have much control over my penis."

"I see," said my stepmom with eyes wide open in surprise.

At that, my stepmom promptly left my bedroom and down the hall. I heard the door to the master bedroom shut. I sighed. I had just managed to alienate the one friend I had left. Could things get any worse?

That night, I mysteriously awoke. With great effort, I sat up in bed. I listened carefully and I heard the box springs creaking in the adjacent room. What in the world was Betty doing?

By this time, my medications had worn off and I was once again in great pain. Still, I managed to roll out of bed and shuffle across the floor. To my dismay, my bathrobe remained on the bed behind me. I wanted to cover up, but I wondered if Betty was in trouble. Perhaps, she was just rocking back in forth in bed. Still, only children shook the bed by rocking back and forth.

I shuffled to Betty's room and peered into the darkness. The dim moonlight was streaming through the windows. To my surprise, Betty was naked on the bed with a knife in her hands. She was facing the window with fear in her eyes. Naturally, I was not sure what to do next.

"What is she doing?" asked Greta.

I nearly jumped out of my skin. I had not expected anyone else to be awake. If I was not in such pain, I probably would have jumped three feet into the air.

"Oh, shit," I said, "Don't scare me like that."

To my surprise, my stepmother was naked also. I could see her perky breasts and hairless crotch. Usually, I would stare at such a beautiful woman like a lovesick teenager, but that was not the case tonight. My arms were shooting pain up and down my spine. The broken bones were still healing and nerves were being pinched each time I moved.

Quickly, I pointed to Betty and gazed helplessly at her. I had heard stories of people who had suffered great trauma brandishing weapons while in a dream state.

"She is doing it again," said Greta.

"Why is she doing this?" I asked.

"The psychiatrist warned me about this," said Greta.

"Is she going to kill herself?" I asked.

"No," said Greta, "But I think she is reliving a past memory."

"Does that have anything to do with those men that tried to grab her the other day?" I asked.

"That is a long story," said Greta.

"Were they going to hurt Betty?" I asked.

My stepmother sighed. Even in the dim light from the moon, I could tell the answer was in the affirmative. Those men really did want to abduct Betty. The thought of having Betty kidnapped made my blood boil.

"Yes," said Greta finally.

"I won't ever let them do anything to hurt Betty," I said.

It was strange watching my stepmother's expression. Bathed in moonlight, we were both standing in the hallway completely naked. This was not unlike a scene from a romantic movie. My stepmother was such an alluring creature that I had completely forgotten that she was angry at me.

"Are you sexually attracted to my mother, too?" asked Greta.

"I thought she was your sister," I said.

"Are you saying that I am old?" asked Greta.

"Of course not," I said.

"She is twice your age," said Greta, "Have you no shame?"

I shrugged my shoulders. I didn't see the problem in dating anyone older than myself.

"She is very beautiful," I said.

"What about me?" Greta asked.

"I can't have anything to do with you," I said, "You are supposed to me my mother."

Greta stopped. She could not argue with me. There was an awkward pause as she tried to respond. She knew I was right. Even if Greta was not my biological mother, society would not understand a mother and son relationship progressing into romantic love.

"If I am your mother," said Greta, "She is your grandmother."

I stopped. Why did Greta have to bring that up? In the back of my mind, my stepmother was right. By the same token, society would not understand a grandmother and grandson relationship progressing into a romantic love.

"I can't have you stringing my mother along," said Greta.

"I am not stringing anyone along," I said.

"There is no possible way you can have any meaningful relationship with my mother," said Greta.

"Why can't I have a relationship with your mother?" I asked, "I am sure she can speak for herself."

"I can't have some horny teenager using my mother for sex," said Greta.

"I am not a teenager," I said, "I am twenty years old."

"You are acting like horny teenager," said Greta.

"Besides," I said, "Betty says I am actually older than you."

Greta's eyes grew big and her nostrils flared open. Her body stiffened as she wagged a finger at me. Her breasts jiggled seductively as she shook her finger at me. This made me smile. Unfortunately, Greta perceived my smile as arrogance and she wagged her finger even faster.

"If you were not so big," said Greta, "I would put you over my knees and spank you."

I looked at Greta. I wondered how my stepmother would actually try to get me over her knees to spank me. I had the feeling that I could easily crush her knees with my weight.

"Are you serious?" I asked, "How do you plan on doing that?"

"You are just one horny teenager," said Greta.

"Aren't you supposed to be my mother?" I asked, "Why are you walking around naked at night?"

"I live here, too," said Greta.

"Why is your mother naked, too?" I asked.

"You are naked, too," said Greta.

"That is because they don't make underwear for this," I said.

I pointed to my mangled penis. Fortunately, I was in too much pain for arousal. My stepmother looked down and saw no erection. At that, my stepmother sighed. I knew for certain that my stepmother would have screamed at me if I had an erection. With no erection, my stepmother could not win the argument about me being a horny teenager. She threw her hands up in frustration.

"What happened earlier?" asked Greta.

I shrugged my shoulders. I had no explanation for my stepmother.

"I am so sorry about what happened earlier," I said meekly, "Can you forgive me?"

My beautiful stepmother looked at me suspiciously out of the corner of her eye. Her arms were crossed and one hand was stroking her elegant chin.

"I just don't want you having sex with my mother," my stepmom said finally.

"Look," I said, "I don't know how long I have to be home."

"No, we don't know," said my stepmom.

"I am not allowed to go anywhere," I said.

"Unless I am taking you to the doctor's office," said my stepmom.

"Right," I said.

"What do you want to do?" asked my stepmom.

"Is Betty going to be stuck here, too?" I asked.

"Yes," said my stepmom.

"Is it okay if I practice kissing with your mother?" I asked, "It has been a long time since I had a girlfriend."

My stepmother frowned. She looked at me with suspicion.

"We would only be kissing," I said innocently.

"Didn't you say you wanted a relationship with my mother?" asked my stepmom.

"Of course I want a relationship with your mother," I said.

My stepmother crossed her arms. Like a mother hen to her baby chicks, Greta prepared to cross-examine me about my true intentions.

"What kind of relationship?" my stepmom asked.

"That would be up to her," I said.

At that, we both heard something drop to the floor. Both of us looked into Betty's bedroom. With eyes wide open, Betty had emerged from her dream state. We saw the knife on the floor next to the bed.

"What are you two arguing about?" asked Betty.

Our loud argument had jolted Greta's mother out of her dream. Betty looked at the knife and kicked it away. With one foot on the floor, Betty's hairy crotch straddled the edge of the bed. I had the sudden urge to kneel beside her and inhale her feminine aroma. If I was not in such pain, I knew I would have displayed a full erection. Instead, I calmly stood there with Betty's gorgeous daughter. Greta was standing so close to me that I could smell the perfume on her naked body. I wondered why Greta was standing so close to me, but I decided not to ask. Instead, I focused on my beloved Betty and waited for her to speak. With a surprised look on her face, Betty turned to Greta and me. Her beautiful blue eyes tried to focus on her daughter and me.