“I’m so sorry, everyone! I don’t know what came over me. Desmond, where’s the wine?”
“Sorry, mom, I wasn’t sure.”
“Nonsense. Leanne, I allow my son to drink in the house. I know you’re underaged for alcohol, but if you want, you can have some wine. Or beer. Desmond prefers beer.”
Leanne was staring at me the whole time I had entered the kitchen. I was very aware of her gaze. Then she smiled. “Sure, missus… I mean Jessica. I would love a beer if you don’t mind.”
“Desmond, be a gentleman and grab beers for yourselves. And pour me a wine.” I looked at the table and saw the board I had laid out with meats, cheeses, and crackers was untouched. “Eat! Supper won’t be for an hour. This will tide us over. Eat!”
Desmond rose and went to the fridge and busied himself with fixing the drinks. Leanne sawed off a piece of salami and put it in her mouth. She did it in a way I found surprisingly sexual. She gleamed at me, and I smiled back. Did I like women? Is this new or something I always felt? I thought back to my younger days and couldn’t remember ever fantasizing about women… Maybe it was just because she’s Desmond’s girlfriend. She was pleasuring him. And if she would do that for him… I left that thought unfinished.
I held my left hand under the table. I could still feel the indents on the side of my hand from my teeth. It throbbed, and I rubbed it a little and then cut off a piece of cheese with my right hand. Leanne looked through the glass tabletop and looked right at my hand. I was sure her eyes went a little rounder, and she shot me a look.
I flushed again. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks.
“So, Leanne, are you working?”
Leanne smiled at me. A knowing smile. I had to pretend she didn’t know. She didn’t, did she? Maybe not. Maybe I got away with it. Maybe… she grinned harder at me. Fuck, I thought. This is embarrassing.
“No, I’m not working yet? I applied at the Dairy Queen, but they’re not hiring? And at the hardware store? There’s not much work in town? I can’t work at Walmart? No way?”
Leanne had a horrible way of speaking that made everything sound like a question. “Oh, that’s too bad. Keep looking though. I’m sure something will open up.”
Leanne kept glancing at my left hand and my face. “Desmond showed me your wedding photo? The one in the living room?”
I nodded. I hadn’t the heart to put it away. It reminded me of happier times despite the asshole standing next to me in the photo.
“We kinda look alike? Don’t we?” she said/questioned.
“Hmm, a little.” That was a bald-faced lie.
“Really? I thought it was me in the photo for a moment? How old were you in the picture?”
“Nineteen.”
“So, wow? Like my age?”
“I guess.”
Desmond returned with my wine, and I grabbed it and took a large swallow. Suddenly, I was so thirsty. My mouth felt dry. My pussy was still wet. I set down the glass as Desmond sat and handed a beer to Leanne, still in the can.
“Desmond! Give her a glass!”
“It’s okay, Miss Smith,” said Leanne. “I prefer the can.”
I nodded and cut off another slice of cheese and ate it slowly, trying to think of anything to say.
“Desmond?” said Leanne. I was starting to find her way of speaking really annoying. “Did you see how much I look like your mother in her wedding photo? We’re the same age in it?”
Desmond didn’t look surprised. He didn’t look surprised at all, to me. I studied him. I could see his cheeks grow a little redder. “No? Really?” he said and looked anywhere but at me.
Leanne rose and went and fetched the picture frame. “Look? This could be me?”
Desmond looked at the picture and then at me. He looked like the little boy who broke my favorite vase when he was ten. Clearly guilty, with his Nerf darts strewn about the living room, but still intent on denying the obvious. “Maybe. But I don’t think so,” he said, and we all heard the lie.
At least I did. I knew my son better than anyone. I knew instinctually when he lied to me. This was a lie. My heart sped up. This means he KNEW she looked like me. He picked her because she looked like me. That was… wrong. But my stomach flipped and flopped like the feeling you get when speeding over a rise on the road and the ground goes away for a moment. My bra felt tight. A warmth spread across my pelvis and seemed to focus in on my groin. I moved in my seat and immediately felt my clitoris between my legs.
After years of having no sexual desires, the dam had broken open, and I was not ready for it. I was an emotional wreck. I wanted everyone to simply leave. I needed time to process everything. Except… I had to feed these two people first. I was trapped. I was in a nightmare.
Instead, I sat and sipped my wine. I nibbled on food and tried to follow the conversation. After about thirty minutes I excused myself and rose to start getting supper ready. I was having roast beef. One wonderful thing about living in a small town surrounded by farming and cattle was the price of wholesome red beef was cheaper than potatoes sometimes. I had a large roast slow cooking in the oven with potatoes, carrots, and onions in the pan. It had been cooking for hours. It was my mother’s recipe and a secret. The secret being a low temperature. You sear the meat and then slowly cook it. Desmond and I would be eating it for weeks. The house already smelled heavenly.
I opened the oven door and checked the meat. It was done perfectly. I grabbed the oven mitts and put them on when Desmond startled me. He came up behind me and placed his large warm hand on my lower back, right above my ass, as I bent over the over door. I was fully aware of my position, my ass raised high toward him. I wanted him to…
“I’ll get it, mom. Give me the gloves,” he said, and his voice was deep with a tone I had never heard from him before and the sound vibrated the air and I swear I felt it in my bones.
My first thought of what I had wanted him to do finished flashing through my head. Me bent over and Desmond fucking me from behind. Penetrating me deeply. Pushing into my depths. Filling me and spreading the walls of my vagina, sliding along my depths. Suddenly, I wanted to see his penis. See how big it was. I straightened up and blew out a breath and banished the thoughts. “Thanks, son. Just place it on the counter there.”
Thankfully, I had granite countertops, again thanks to Desmond.
Desmond took over and then helped me pull all the meat and vegetables from the pan. I put the pan on the stovetop and turned on the heat. I added a little red wine and deglazed it and then made a slurry and added it to the drippings in the pan and made gravy.
Desmond and I were a team in the kitchen. We always made meals together. We would fly around the kitchen, rarely bumping and rarely in each other’s way. Like a dance. Soon we had everything laid out on a large platter with a gravy boat almost overflowing. Leanne had set the table once we showed her where everything was, and we sat.
Desmond always sat at the head of the table. A place I always reserved for him as the man in the house. He had gone from a highchair to a regular chair sitting there. And I would sit next to him around the table corner with the whole empty table extending out past us and forgotten. He rose from his seat and carved the roast beef. I watched him and admired his skill. I caught Leanne watching me from across the table and smiled at her. The meat was perfect and juicy, just like my mom had always made it. He served us and then waited for Leanne to say grace. Desmond and I just smiled at one another. We were never religious.