by Lila Younger
“Pleasure yourself. And you can’t come, not until I say so.”
“Yes sir,” I say obediently.
I lean back onto the desk and spread my legs wide for him. My left hand goes to my breast, circling and teasing at the tender nipple as if they were his tongue. I wish it was, but he’s seen fit to deprive me of that today. That’s okay though. I know that if I do a really good job, Brandon will make sure I’m well satisfied. My other hand drifts around my bellybutton, then slowly down between my thighs. His eyes are glittering, unable to look away. I lock my eyes with his, electricity pulsing through my body. I see him working his cock faster now. I dip my hands between my pink folds, slipping in three fingers into the wetness that’s already there.
Even though I’ve touched myself before, it’s never felt this good. Seeing him watching, holding himself back from me, is beyond hot. I’m doing exactly what he wants, but to see him go crazy over my body makes my whole body extra sensitive, extra aware of how everything feels. My thumb caresses my clit, and I let out a breathy moan. My fingers are sliding in and out of me, slow at first, then faster and faster as pleasure floods through me.
“Not yet,” Brandon says in warning. I blink and try to slow myself down, last longer.
“Uh uh. No cheating,” he growls when he realizes what I’m up to.
I speed up again, pinching my nipple now as I grind my hand against my pussy. Heat spreads inside of me, engulfing me in pleasure. I’m not used to denying myself, and my thoughts are scattering as I try to figure out how I’m going to last long enough. Brandon hasn’t said a word so I have to keep going, but soon I’m begging and shaking from my pent up need. Only then does he stand up, taking what feels like forever, and angles himself against my swollen lip.
“Please,” I beg him, bucking my hips. “I’ve been good.”
His hand ghosts along my jaw.
“Tell me what you want.”
“I- I want you to fuck me. Please.”
No sooner are the words out of my mouth before he takes me to the hilt, his hand clamped around my mouth so that I don’t scream as I come, clamping down all around him. It feels like fireworks are exploding inside of me, searing hot and painfully good. Brandon doesn’t stop for me, groaning as he fucks me over and over, each thrust pushing my orgasm even higher than before. It tears through me like a storm, until I’m breathless. I’m quivering and breathless, but he doesn’t care, driving himself deep inside of me every single time.
“That was amazing,” I gasp when I’ve recovered enough to sit back up off the desk. “But you know, I think people are starting to suspect that you don’t actually have this many conference calls to Asia.”
We’ve stayed late for the third time this week. I know that Brandon worries about starting a scandal at work. Just a few months ago, the CEO of Home Depot stepped down when rumors that he was sleeping with an employee surfaced. Of course the guy was fifty and the woman was only twenty, but still. I don’t want to be the reason that he loses his job.
“You’re right,” he says, sitting up. I’m treated to a view of his rock hard abs, something I never get tired of seeing. “We need to stop doing this at work.”
Of course, that’ll only last until tomorrow afternoon, when I plan on surprising him with a blow job during his boring afternoon Skype call.
“I was thinking maybe this weekend we could go to this trampoline park that’s opening just outside the city. Steph and Michael can come too. She’s dying to meet you. Properly that is.”
Just then my phone rings in my purse. It’s Steph’s ringtone, and I scramble to catch her before it gets to voicemail.
“Speak of the devil. Do you mind if I pick up? I can tell her to book spots for us. That is, unless you really hate the idea?”
“No, I think it’s lovely,” Brandon says. “I’d love to meet Steph. Her approval is important.”
I click my phone. I know he’s gazing at my ass, and it makes me smile. Maybe we still have time for another round before our reservations for dinner tonight...
“Hey Steph,” I say cheerfully. “How’s it going?”
“Uhm, hey Chelsea.” Her voice sounds worried about something and I sit up straighter. Steph’s never worried. “Have you seen your mom lately?”
“No, why?” I know that I should. I plan on making the trip every weekend, but I keep putting it off to spend time with Brandon.
“Well, you know my cousin Nikki works at the hospital right? She saw your mom there speaking with one of the doctors.”
My skin prickles with fear. Brandon comes up behind me and snakes his arms around me. His lips brush against my neck, but I can’t be distracted right now. I gently wiggle out of his arms.
“Maybe she was visiting someone?” I suggest. My mom has lots of friends, and she would definitely be there if one of them was in trouble.
“I don’t know,” Steph says. “Nikki said that she was crying, and she looks... she doesn’t look good. Maybe you should go down there and see.”
“Will you- Will you come with me?” I ask with a lump in my throat.
“Of course,” she agrees quickly, and I just know that that means that despite the fact that Steph is trying to be gentle, the news can’t be good at all. I hang up the phone and turn to Brandon. He’s concerned, and I don’t blame him.
“I’m sorry. We have to put our plans on hold for this weekend. I have to go back home.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know. Steph says she thinks my mom is sick. I think it’s pretty serious. I’d feel better if I went and visited her just to be sure. I- I haven’t gone back in a few months now.”
I start pulling my dress back on. Any thoughts of a second round with Brandon evaporated. In fact, since he’s the reason for me putting it off, I sort of feel like I shouldn’t go out to dinner tonight either.
“I’ve got to pack up my stuff for the trip this weekend,” I start to say. “Is it okay if we skip the Thai restaurant tonight?”
“Of course. I’m sure everything will be okay Chelsea.”
But I have a sinking feeling that it really isn’t.
Chapter 11
Chelsea
Steph and I leave after work on Friday in her little yellow VW bug. Brandon tells me to give him a call once we arrive, but because it’s outside of his office, we don’t kiss. It’s a long trip, and we don’t waste any time. Halfway through the trip, we stop in at a roadside restaurant that we both love because they serve breakfast all day. Unfortunately, my stomach is flipflopping around, terrified of what I’m going to discover, and I spend most of the time cutting up my blueberry pancakes instead of eating them. Finally Steph gives up and asks the waitress for the bill. It starts to rain, and the dark weather matches my mood completely. Most of the drive is spent in silence.
“Do you know what’s happening?” I finally ask. “I feel like the reason you aren’t saying anything is because you know.”
Her eyes are focused on the road, but I can tell by the way she’s gripping the steering wheel that she’s only doing it to avoid looking at me.
“Nikki says it didn’t seem good,” she says finally. “She’s seen your mother in there a few times. And not to visit.”
Nikki is Steph’s cousin who works as a nurse in the hospital. She’s really nice, about two years younger than us, and we’ve hung out a few times back when we lived in Atlanta. She’s always been fun, but I’ve never known her to lie or exaggerate things for the hell of it.
“She’s sure?”
“Pretty sure. Sure enough to say something.”
We descend into silence again and I’m alone with my thoughts. I know that for most people, a parent visiting the hospital is a cause for concern, but I’m extra worried. That’s because she hates the hospital. Hates doctors too. She doesn’t like the way they prod and poke her. That’s why Mom has always been a health nut so she can avoid having to go. She eats veggies with every meal, and goes for a run in the morning. Her
body is trim and great for her age. Sure she gets a cold every winter, which we always joke about, but I’ve never known her to be truly sick. The only vice she has is her coffee. She drinks tons of it. Sometimes she gets ulcers, but aside from that... Can ulcers cause someone to land in the hospital? I pull out my phone to Google.
“What are you doing?” Steph demands.
“Googling.”
“For illnesses your mom might have? Stop that.” But I’m already on a roll. She swats me with her hand. “I said stop that!”
As usual, Steph’s right. I’m pulling up all sorts of crazy things, and it’s making me more worried than ever. The images are particularly horrific. I don’t know why people put this sort of stuff on the web. Don’t they know to go to a doctor? I’m suddenly filled with inexplicable rage. My mom would be one of those people who don’t go until it’s serious, putting off going to the doctors until something truly bad happened. Doesn’t she realize that she’s getting old and needs to take better care of herself? And then I feel ashamed, because if I had visited sooner, maybe I would have caught on to whatever it is mom has.
My thoughts go round and round, like water circling a drain, until I’ve made myself completely wretched.
Finally we pull off the freeway and in another fifteen minutes, we’re coming to our neighborhood. I always get a nostalgic feeling around the time I see the Chick-fil-A where we would go during high school lunchtimes, and then we pass the school itself, and finally the street that both Steph and I lived on.
“Do you want me to come in with you?” she asks when she pulls to a stop in my home’s driveway.
“No, don’t worry about it. You must be tired too,” I say. “Thank you for coming with me.”
I get out of the car and haul my weekend bag over my shoulder.
“Call me,” she mouthes through the window, and I nod.
My home is small and old and quaint, but I don’t care. I used to want to live in a big house, a McMansion where everything was new, but now that I’m gone, I find myself missing all the little things about it. My grandmother’s plates hanging on the wall, the cheery red door that instantly makes every guest feel welcome, the dormers where I use to sit and read late at night cause my bedside lamp would have alerted my mom I was still awake. My mom hasn’t done as much work to the garden this year. It’s her one passion, and a little voice inside my head asks if it’s because she’s too sick to.
I’m at the door and fumbling with my keys when I hear a familiar barking. Good old Rudy, I think. Rudy is our mutt of a dog that we got when my parents divorced. They thought maybe it would help ease the transition, and I was pretty pissed that they thought they could just fix things with a dog. Funnily enough, it sort of did. Or at least helped me get through things. He was pretty old when we first got him (his family was moving and they didn’t want him anymore), and at first I wanted nothing to do with him. But once I heard his story, I bonded to him. It felt like we had both been rejected, me by my dad, him by his family.
Rudy has alerted my mom, and by the time I open the door, she’s in the living room entrance. She’s... she’s definitely skinnier. And more tired. She’s more stooped too, but is that because she’s getting old or getting sick? A wave of guilt washes over me.
“Hey mom,” I say. “I thought I’d pop down for that visit.”
“Oh! That’s great Chelsea. You should have told me though, I could have made your favorite peach cobbler,” she says coming forward for a hug.
I open my arms and hold her close. Yes, she’s definitely thinner. I swallow hard.
“Don’t worry about that mom, We can make some tomorrow. You’ve gotten... skinnier.”
“That’s just a new diet I’m on,” she says waving her hand. “Have you had dinner? Did you come straight down after work? Oh you must not have had anything if you did...”
“It’s fine mom,” I say. “Steph and I stopped in at Lucy’s for her all day breakfast.”
“Don’t tell me- blueberry pancakes? Cause that’s not filling enough for dinner.”
“Yes blueberry pancakes. And it’s definitely enough.”
We go through to the kitchen. It’s homey, with red checkered curtains on every window, and butcher block countertops and white cabinets. I don’t think the place has changed in the thirty years my mom has lived here, but that’s okay. There’s no need for modern when you have cozy. The old refrigerator starts up its loud hum just like always. I take my seat, the wood worn down where my butt has sat for so many years. My mom does the same across from me. The bright light throws the sharp angles on her face. I look at her for a moment, troubled, hoping she’d say something, but she just stands back up and goes over to grab a cup.
“I’m going to have some tea,” she declares. “Do you want any?”
Suddenly I can’t take it anymore. There’s something going on that she’s not telling me about. She’s boiling the water in the kettle, and I go over so I’m standing in front of her.
“Mom, what are you not telling me?!” It bursts out of me angrier than I want it to be, and she blinks hard, fighting back sudden tears.
“Oh Chelsea,” is all she says.
“Tell me!” I’m frightened. My mom has always been a rock. Even through the divorce, I never saw her shed a tear.
“My ulcers... they weren’t ulcers. It’s stomach cancer and it’s spread,” she whispers.
There’s a roaring in my ears that drowns out the rest of her words. I’m blinking stupidly as her mouth forms shapes and sounds, but all I can hear is the word cancer echoing around in my head. I know that I should be strong right now. That that’s what my mom needs from me. But I can’t do it. I can’t seem to make myself hold back the tears. And then she steps forward and gives me a hug and I cry on her shoulder like a little kid again.
“How long?” I finally manage to get out.
“Not very. A year maybe a year and a half. It’s already started to spread. I should have gone in sooner... but you know how I hate hospitals.”
I did. But I also knew that if I’d come home for a visit like I’d been meaning to for months, maybe they could have caught it sooner. How long has my mom been saying she’s tired and run down? How long has she put off something because nobody’s been around to nag her to go? The rock in my stomach grows bigger and heavier. I should have been here. I didn’t have a crazy important job. I just dreaded going on the Greyhound and sitting next to a weirdo for half the day. And then when Brandon and I started seeing each other, it made it even easier to put off.
A part of me hated myself for it. Wished that I could have done everything over again, the proper way. My mom sees the look on my face and shakes her head.
“Now Chelsea, don’t go blaming yourself,” she says. “You know that I wouldn’t have gone in anyways. Stubborn, as you always liked to say about me.”
I know that she’s just trying to make me feel better, but it’s not going to work. The only way I can is to stay here with mom until the end. A year is nothing compared to how much she’s done and given for me. I know she won’t like the plan. She never likes to be a hassle to anyone. But I’m going to. She’ll just have to forget about that guest bedroom.
And then she asks me about Brandon. I have been trying to avoid thinking about that. I don’t know if a long distance relationship is even possible, and I just feel so guilty that I’ve been ignoring her for him that I don’t know if I could enjoy being with him at all right now. So I shrug it off.
“It’s just a little fling mom, nothing serious.”
“Oh?” She gets a sad look in her eye, as though she’s asking me to try again. But I refuse. I avoid her glance by going to get myself a cup of water.
“That’s how it’s done these days mom. Nobody settles down into a serious relationship until they’re approaching thirty. Why not have fun while I can? I’ll settle down once I’m thirty.”
“And what about Steph?”
I give a quick shrug, trying to keep my voice li
ght and airy.
“She hates doing what everybody else is doing. You know how she is.”
Mom nods, but I’m not sure if I’ve completely convinced her. She’s always been too good at reading between the lines.
The kettle starts to whistle, and my mom turns to pour the tea for herself. I grab a mug too, and the tin of hot cocoa. It’s definitely the time for some good old comfort food (or drink in this case). I let my mom steer the conversation away from her illness and to her church. Sharon, the lead singer in the choir, has strep, and the new pastor that they have is putting everyone to sleep. It’s nice to hear her prattle on, as if everything is normal.
Once our drinks are done, my mom heads upstairs. Her bedtime is almost an hour and a half earlier than it used to be, another sign that she’s not doing good at all. I pretend to work in the living room until she’s closed the bedroom door, and then I pick up the phone and make the call.
“Chelsea,” Brandon says. He’s glad to hear from me, I can tell, but instead of making me smile, it just makes what I’m about to say even harder.
“I’m sorry, but I have to break up with you Brandon.”
Chapter 12
Brandon
I’m so shocked by Chelsea’s words that I’m temporarily speechless. What happened? One minute she’s making a trip to see her mom, and the next minute we’re breaking up? This is all too fast. We were only just starting. Why would she end things now? We were doing well. We had plans.
“Chelsea, what’s going on?” I try to ask. It feels like there’s a rock in my stomach. “Let’s talk about this.”
“I’m sorry.” Her voice is muffled, like she’s fighting back tears. “It’s my mom. I have to stay to take care of her. She’s-she’s dying I think, and I need to be here. I don’t know how long it will be. I’m sorry. I have to go.”