Mary Jenkins - A mother_s forbidden passion

Ken did not particularly like the lovely teenage girl – he thought she was a bitch at heart, that she was a conniving little wanton who cared about nothing and no one but Debbie Mason, and Debbie Mason's pleasures and happiness, and he wished that Tony had not begun to talk of a permanent attachment to her. She would hurt him in the long run, Ken felt that instinctively – but he had not tried to interfere, knowing that Tony would have resented any intrusion into his private life; still, he hoped that his nephew would find out the truth about Debbie one of these days, and soon before it was too late.

In spite of his dislike for Debbie, Ken still felt an involuntary quickening of his breath, a pounding of his blood, at the sheer sexuality the young girl exuded. He couldn't keep his eyes from straying over her breasts, over the clearly-defined cleft of her pussy displayed by the too-tight shorts as she thrust her hips forward provocatively. Then he shook his head slightly, feeling his neck flush with embarrassment, and snuffed out the impossibly lewd ideas which had leapt unbidden into his brain.

He put on a reluctant smile of welcome, said, "Hello, Debbie. How are you tonight?"

"Just fine, Ken," she replied, and he knew that she was laughing at him, mocking him, by calling him by his first name.

"Did you want to see Tony?" he asked her coolly.

"Yes, I did. If it's all right," Debbie answered, and her even white teeth flashed in a knowing smile, for she was well aware of the effect that she had on Tony's uncle and the knowledge that he secretly wanted her sexually was perversely satisfying; she was a girl who needed, coveted, the attention of all men. And he was handsome, she thought, even more handsome than Tony. She wondered speculatively if he was good in bed, and if he had a big cock – an even bigger cock than Tony had, maybe, and Tony's was huge and felt like a log deep up in her belly.

"Won't you come in, Debbie?"

"Thanks, Ken," Debbie said, and stepped past him, allowing her breast to brush across his arm as she did so. Ken shivered slightly, and then guiltily fought down a renewal of his sexual fantasies; damn, what was the matter with him tonight? He had always been able to control himself in the past, his cravings and desires. Perhaps it was the champagne or perhaps, more probably, it was the arrival of Bette, the nearness of her that had bestirred the long-still fever inside him.

Ken followed Debbie into the living room, and introduced her, again reluctantly, to Bette. The lovely blonde mother shook hands with the girl, and as she did so she felt a sudden dampening of her spirits. So this was the girl Tony had talked so glowingly of. Why why, she seemed like nothing but a little slut! Displaying herself in those tight shorts, acting haughty and aloof but certainly not fooling Bette with her attitude; the lovely blonde mother had seen a lot of girls like Debbie Mason in Chicago and environs, and they were all mercenary, hard-hearted individuals who used their youthfully sensuous bodies and their allure to get whatever they wanted. Debbie fitted perfectly into that category, and even though Bette tried to tell herself that she was over-reacting, she experienced a growing tide of resentment and dislike nonetheless.

"How do you do, Mrs. Clark?" Debbie said.

"Fine, thank you," Bette answered.

"I imagine you're very happy to be home after well, after everything."

Even though Debbie was smiling sweetly, Bette sensed a hidden undercurrent of malice in the girl's voice. She kept her own voice even as she replied, "Yes, I'm very happy to be home."

Tony crossed to the lovely black-haired teenager and put an arm possessively about her shoulders, kissing her cheek. He grinned happily, looking at Debbie with the love he obviously felt for the girl plainly mirrored on his big handsome young face – a look that made Bette turn away. "What brings you here tonight, honey?"

She smiled up at him. "Well, I know you told me your mother was coming home today, but I talked to Dan Krauter a little while ago and he reminded me of the Book Fair they're holding tonight over in Billings. I know how much you wanted to go, because there'll be used textbooks that you can use in college in September – and I kind of wanted to go myself. It closes at eleven, which is plenty of time if you still care to drive over, and so I thought I'd come by and mention it to you."

"Gee, I forgot all about the Book Fair," Tony said. "I would like to go, but…" He looked at his mother. "Well, I don't think I can make it, Deb. Mom's home now and we're having a kind of celebration."

"Oh please, Tony," Bette said quickly, wanting to please him, wanting him to know that she was on his side. "If you want to go to the Book Fair, you go ahead. I understand perfectly."

"I don't know…"

"Books are important, very important, and if you have a chance to pick some up cheaply you should do so," Bette told him. "Why don't you and Debbie go ahead?"

"Thanks, Mrs. Clark," Debbie said sweetly. "Well, Tony, shall we go?"

"I guess so," Tony replied. "As long as it's okay with Mom. And Uncle Ken."

"I think you should," Ken said, for he wanted, suddenly and acutely, to be alone with Bette. He felt a sense of impending excitement that he couldn't exactly define, a need to explore his relationship with his dead brother's lovely blonde wife, a need to be close to her with no one else around. It was a physical need as much as it was an emotional one, a product of his long-repressed feelings and desires for this woman who had been married to his brother, and even though he tried to tell himself that there could be no real intimacy between himself and Bette – tonight, maybe never – he couldn't rid himself of the growing fires of desire which suddenly flamed within him.

It was decided that Tony and Debbie would go to the Book Fair in Billings, and Bette and Ken walked the teenagers to the door. Once there, Tony seemed to want to kiss his mother, and she hoped fervently that he would do so; but instead, he just touched her hand and said, "Good night, Mom," and Bette knew that things were not yet back to any semblance of true normalcy – though she felt that the chance that they would one day be was strong and very real.

When Debbie and Tony had gone, Ken sighed and took Bette's arm, the touch of her flesh sending little shivers of delight through him, and guided her back into the living room. "How about some more champagne?" he suggested as they sat down facing the fire again.

"All right," Bette answered, and Ken poured their glasses full. They drank, then she said, "Ken, I don't like that girl that Debbie. I don't think she's right for Tony."

"Neither do I," Ken admitted.

"Is he really serious about her?"

"I'm afraid he's getting that way."

"Isn't there anything we you can do to dissuade him?"

"I don't think so. He's a pretty stubborn boy when he thinks something is right, and at the moment he thinks Debbie is right."

"Has it gotten to the marital stage yet?"

"No," Ken said, "but it may be pretty close."

"She's well, she's pretty obvious, Ken. Do you know what I mean?"

"All too well," Ken answered.

Abruptly, Bette laughed – a soft, bitter, painful laugh. "Look who's calling the kettle black," she whispered. "What right do I have to judge other people, after the mess I've made of my own life."

"That's all in the past," Ken comforted her. "There's the future to look forward to now, and that will all be different."

"Oh, I hope so, Ken. I hope so desperately."

"It will be," he said positively. He raised his glass. "To the future, Bette to your future, and to Tony's, and to mine."

"To the future," she replied, and they touched glasses and drank.

They had two more pourings of the effervescent liquid, emptying the first bottle, and Ken opened the second. He could feel his entire body growing warm with heat that had nothing whatsoever to do with the crackling fire before him. His breathing grew somewhat irregular, and he moved closer to Bette on the couch. There was a deep tingling in the pit of his stomach, down low in his groin, and no amount of mental urging would dispel it. He could no longer deny the obvious: he wanted his brother's wife, he wanted her now, tonight; it was almost as if he had to have her or else he would explode with the seething passions spiraling through his flesh.