Heather Brown - Mom_s boy hunger

"And just where are you headed in. such a rush, young lady?" I finally found my tongue and verbally covered up my apprehension.

"Got a heavy date," she winked.

"But it's a week night, Sally," I pointed out.

"So what? There's no school tomorrow. It's summer-or have you forgotten, Mother?"

As a matter of fact, I had. I was very addled.

"Aren't you going to have any dinner, Sally?" I asked after an uncomfortable pause, during which my daughter stared at me as though I were most peculiar.

"What dinner?" she made me seem like a fool again. "Daddy wouldn't be raising the roof already if you'd fixed anything to eat.. The only thing that's going to be dished up around here tonight is a lot of yelling and screaming."

She was absolutely right, of course. "Okay," I acknowledged defeat, "go ahead and go. But where's the boy?"

"He's picking me up at Trudy Cooper's," she called over her shoulder. "We're doubling."

"Who's the boy?" I called back across the yard before she could get out of earshot.

"It's a blind date with a guy on the basketball team. He's a friend of Trudy's brother. I don't ordinarily go out with guys I don't know, but you know me-I just can't resist a jock."

And then she was gone. Alone, I stood on the porch trying to work up enough nerve to go inside and face my steaming husband. Now that I was no longer talking to Sally, I could hear him yelling all the way from the kitchen.

"Might as well go in and face the music," I sighed to myself. "It's time to get off the merry-go-round."

However, before I could open the door, it did so from the other side. Don, came bustling out in his customary all-energy fashion.

"Mom!" he blurted. "Where've you been?"

"That seems to be the $64 Question," I sighed some more.

"Dad's in there ready to kill you," my son reported, as if I didn't already know. "You know how he gets sometimes."

I certainly did. Ted was a good provider, but there were stings attached. The main one was that when he didn't get his way, he felt it was his God-given right to erupt like a human volcano.

"Where are you going?" I asked Don the same question I had asked his sister.

"Over to Butch Hobson's to spend the night," he answered. "His mother says it's all right-they're having hamburgers for dinner..

And they don't fight, I filled in the rest of it in my mind. Then, when I looked around, Don was gone, too. I felt like I was on a sinking ship.

There seemed no alternative but to go in. Maybe, I allowed myself some optimism, I can get a few drinks into Ted and cairn him down before he tears the house down.

He was thundering in the kitchen when I entered the house. Pots and pans were crashing, dishes breaking, as he apparently hurled them around the room to vent his anger. Since the kitchen was the room in the house most associated with me, it apparently made him feel better to wreck everything in it.

I took a deep breath and went in to confront him. "Okay, Ted," I said, "I'm here. You can stop breaking things and go to work on me, if it'll make you feel any better."

He turned; saw me, and practically breathed fire in my direction. Then he lunged at me with cat-like quickness and grabbed me by the throat before I could get away.

"This is too much, Betty!" he bellowed like an insane sea-lion. But there his words stopped. He was so angry that he couldn't talk any more.

"You're turning purple, Ted," I found the courage to point out. "Remember what the doctor said about your blood pressure. Especially when you borrowed on your life insurance to buy that boat."

That got him where he lived. The grip on my neck relaxed and I was able to wriggle free. "Come on," I tried to take advantage of the lull in his fury, "I'll fix you a nice, stiff drink. Then, while you're relaxing, I'll get busy on something to eat."

The last part was particularly skating on thin ice, since I didn't know if there was anything edible in the pantry. However, if I could get Ted calmed down, I could make the rest up as I went along. If I got him drunk enough, I might be able to get away with peanut butter sandwiches.

Quickly I had Ted in a chair and switched on the television set, so I could keep him occupied while I poured him a double slug of bourbon. I hoped one of his favorite cop shows was on. Blood and guts always seemed to have a calming effect on him.

I was in luck. Something even more violent than a cop show was on. The news. They were showing a live-action tape of the bloodbath surrounding today's skyjacking. Terrorists were being mowed down all over the screen, to Ted's immediate glee. Finding the bottle of whiskey, I filled a water glass two-thirds full of straight poison and shoved it in my husband's hand while he drooled over flying bullets. After he took a big gulp, he became as placid as a kitten.

Now I excused myself and went into the kitchen to try and find something to fix for dinner. Unfortunately, I put Mother Hubbard to shame. The cupboard was more than bare, it was barren. We were even out of Wonder bread and Skippy peanut butter. There wasn't even a stale Twinkie in the house.

"More whiskey!" Ted called from in front of the TV. Well, I thought, maybe I can just keep feeding bin', that.

I filled his glass even fuller than I had the first time. Ted took a swig like he. was drinking Pepsi. He'd be dead-drunk within minutes.

I wasn't too fond of him smashed, but under the circumstances of this evening I was looking forward to it. At least if he was bombed I could forget about all this dinner nonsense. All I'd have to do to keep Ted happy was keep pouring whiskey into his glass.

The news was over by the time Ted was on his third drink, so I switched the channel for him, looking for something good and gory.

The network programming hadn't started yet, so the best I could do was toiler derby. This seemed to satisfy Ted, especially when the woman skaters started bouncing each other's bodies all over the boards. My husband seemed to enjoy any form of entertainment in which women were abused.

I sat in a chair beside him and tried to watch, keeping his glass full the whole time. Pretty soon, though, I wasn't watching the set, but Ted's reaction to the violent goings-on polluting the screen.

Even though his senses were presumably deadened by alcohol, the spark in his eyes were remarkable whenever one of the female skaters was abused. I started to feel almost uncomfortable in the presence of this sick form of entertainment, and most particularly my husband's reaction to it.

"Where you going?" Ted slurred when I got up because I was unable to watch any more.

"Uh, I thought I'd read."

"No!" he abruptly bellowed. "Stay put. I want you right here."

"But I…"

"That's an order!"

"All-all right," I acquiesced, frightened by his sudden bombast. "But do you think you could change the channel?"

"I'll do better than that," he said, and surprised me by leaning forward and clicking off the set.

I didn't know what to think. "D-do you want to talk?" I ventured.

His response was a drunken leer. "No," he drawled. "You know what I want."

But I didn't. However, considering his mood, I was afraid to say so.

Then I knew. Pushing himself up from his chair, Ted boozily swayed while he unzipped his fly.

"Kiss it and make it hard!" he ordered, as he pulled out his limp prick.

Ugh, I thought. Never had a cock seemed so ugly to me as my own husband's at this moment.

"Kiss it!" he demanded.

As much as I loathed the idea of making love under these circumstances, I couldn't see where I had any choice. By getting Ted drunk I had sort of painted myself into a corner. There was no telling what he'd do if I didn't obey his orders.

I knelt before him, and moved my face toward his limp tool. But I was trembling so much I couldn't center my lips properly for the phallic kiss I was supposed to give.