Another gleam around the tops of her thighs.
“Do you really not see that?” No answer from Tom. “I mean, *I* can see it, but nobody else-” Amanda glanced over at her son, who was staring at the mirror, eyes slightly glazed. “Tom! Wake up.” She let the hem of her skirt drop. Tom blinked once, slowly, shaking his head.
“Sorry mom, just tired I guess.” He said, coming back to life.
“Did you clean up the kitchen like I asked?” Her voice was stern but soft.
“Hm?” His eyes focused on hers. “Oh yeah, yup. All done.”
“Good,” she said, pleased surprise breaking through her stern facade. “Did you have something you wanted to ask in return?”
“No, I don’t think so,” he shook his head. “Just…just happy to do it for you.” He blinked.
“You’re sure?” Amanda asked, confused.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” He smiled.
“Uh okay,” she said. “Well, keep up the good work, and maybe you can use my car again. Now, you head on down, and I’ll come start dinner, okay?”
“Sure thing, mom!” Tom enthused, clomping on back down the stairs.
Amanda turned back to the mirror. Had he been staring at her legs? Her thighs rubbed together, sending a little frisson of pleasure up her spine. No, it couldn’t be. He was just, tired or something, pent up after she’d cut him off from getting the car. That had probably put a pretty serious kink in his sex life. That must be it.
She looked down at her feet, wiggling her toes in their cobwebby wrap. Maybe it was time to paint them again.
—
When Tom woke up the next morning, it was from a fitful night’s sleep of half-forgotten dreams. The harder he tried to remember the details, the faster he forgot them, though he definitely remembered something silky and gauzy and warm against his face. There had been a woman there too, right? A woman’s voice, anyway, whispering something, telling him he was a good- a good- it was gone in the morning light.
What wasn’t gone was the enormous erection he’d woken up with. Lying in his bed, Tom looked down at the massive tentpole in his sheets. At 20 years old, he was not unfamiliar with the experience of waking up with morning wood, but he’d never seen it quite like this before. Keeping a weather eye on the door, he let his fist wrap around the throbbing meat, and began to gently stroke it. It must have been a hell of a dream, he decided, fist sliding up the sensitive shaft, trying to remember what it had been about. There had been a woman, he knew, a woman who had- a woman who-
Down the hall, there was a crash. Tom squeezed his shaft and tried to ignore it.
“Fuck! Damn, fuck!” His mom shouted. “Tom!”
Gritting his teeth, the young athlete sprang out of bed, yanked on the nearest pair of shorts, and padded down the hall to his mother’s bedroom.
When he walked in, Amanda was sitting on the edge of her bed, holding her left leg tightly. She was wearing the pantyhose he’d “bought” her yesterday, her right leg stuck straight out, bare toes wriggling in discomfort. She’d painted them red, he noticed.
“Um,” he said, carefully. “Mom?”
“Goddamn that hurt like a sonofabitch,” she complained, then unfolded her knitted hands. Underneath, a laddered run in the nylon scored her shin, revealing a scarlet mark where she’d barked it against something. Amanda extended her left leg, surveying the damage. “Fuck,” she muttered under her breath. “Another pair gone. Goddamnit I *liked* those.” Looking up, she caught Tom’s distracted gaze. He was looking straight down at her legs, his sculpted bare chest heaving.