A Complete Education Ch. 02

"So you're Edgar's son."

"Yeah."

"I guess that makes us related, somehow, since my son is your half-brother. So are you my half-son?" She grinned at me, and it was a warm, disarming smile.

"I dunno, I guess that could be the term. I'm sorry for the way that things went with my father."

"No, it's good. I mean, I'm really excited about the whole process. He's not who I would have picked for a father, but he's good. He's supportive, although at first he didn't want me to keep the child."

"Are you all set for raising the child?"

"I have to move back in with my parents. They're supportive, too. Hey, Morag's going to be looking for a new roommate. You interested?"

I wasn't sure if it was a serious offer. I looked at Morag, and she just smiled cryptically. "You want some breakfast? Cereal is pretty much all we got." I sat down beside Morag, and she put her hand on my thigh as I poured out a bowl of Shreddies.

That evening, I got home to find a note on the counter from my mother, asking me if I could go get groceries. I took the list down from the fridge, and went out to the store. As I was passing by the pharmacy section, I noticed the contraceptives section. I turned the shopping cart into the aisle, and scanned through, until I found a green box marked 'large'. I grinned, and put them into my cart, and later found myself blushing as the cute girl at the checkout fumbled with them.

I got home and began unpacking the groceries, just as my mother drove up in the driveway.

"Oh good, you got the groceries."

"Yeah."

She began unpacking them.

"Oh. Are these yours?"

I turned to see her looking at the box of condoms.

"Oh, um." We stood there, awkwardly for what seemed like an eternity.

"No, that's good. I mean, it's good that you're being responsible."

"Yeah."

"You want me to put them up in your room?"

I nodded, and poured myself some water to moisten my parched throat.

"There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about, and I guess this is as good a time as any."

"Okay," I said, completely unsure of what the talk would be about. I could tell that it was something she felt awkard about, too. I continued to put groceries away, afraid to turn and face her.

"I'm sure it's awkard to your lifestyle, living here with me. There are probably times when you'd like to bring a woman home without having to worry about me getting in the way. And there are times I'd like to do the same. So maybe we should be a bit more open about who we're seeing, what we're doing. I don't mind spending an evening out if you want the place to yourself."

I nodded. "That makes sense."

"So is there anyone you want to tell me about?"

"There's a girl," I nodded.

"What's she like?"

"She's nice, she's really smart."

"And cute?"

"Yeah, she's cute."

"Blonde? Brunette?"

"Brunette."

"What's her name?"

"Morag."

"And you've been having sex?"

I tried to act casual, but I was annoyed with her questions. "Yes." Who did she think she was, asking me about my sex life? What right did she have?

"Well that's great, son."

"And how about you? Anyone you'd like to tell me about?"

She shrugged the question off. "No, I'm not seeing any guys right now."

"Any women, then?" I asked angry that she wasn't taking me seriously.

"What?" She looked up, flabbergasted at my suggestion.

"Any of my teachers, perhaps?"

"Did she tell you? Did Jemima tell you?" she yelled.

"What does it matter?"

"Fucking bitch. I'm gonna kill her."

"She'd kick you're ass," I said.

My mother spun and swung her arm out catching me hard across the face. She swung to slap me a second time but I caught her arm, and twisted it behind her back. I expected her to scream out, to tell me to let her go; if she had screamed out, I would have let go, but she didn't. She still twisted, trying to get free, but I wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her tight against me. She pulled her arm free, so I wrapped my other arm around her shoulders. I wasn't sure why we were fighting. I wasn't even sure that we were fighting. In her struggling form, I became aware of her lithe body, her muscles, her anatomy. She turned her head back to try to look at me, and from the glimpse I caught of her face, I could see that she wasn't angry, or frightened. She had the expression of an athlete. Someone fully engaged in what they were doing. I wondered if she could feel me against her ass, my hard erection. I wasn't thinking about sex—at least, not until I became aware of my own erection, but my body had been roused.

She hooked a leg around mine, digging her high heel into my calf, and I crumpled to my knees. She turned, grabbed me by the shoulders, and tackled me onto the hardwood floor. I found myself looking up at her as she straddled me, her blouse torn, her skirt pulled up around her thighs. I looked straight into her eyes, and she stared straight back at me, her eyes wild and distant. She slapped me again. I didn't want to move; I wanted to lie here beneath her forever. But what was impossible. The moment we stopped fighting, we'd have to get up, separate, and apologize, and this incredible intimacy would be over. She slapped me again, and I realized why: she didn't want to stop fighting, either.

I grabbed both her arms and pulled her down ontop of me, and rolled her over. She wrapped her legs around me, struggling not to break free of me, but just to keep struggling. I pressed her arms flat on the floor, and took a moment to realize where we were. Her skirt was now all the way up around her waist, and my loins were pressed at the apex of her thighs. She had to be able to feel my cock against her. My body lay ontop of her, my chest upon her breasts. She there was a bead of sweat on her face, and I held her there and watched it run down over her brow. I held her arms in my hands. She held my hips with her legs. Again we seemed to be at an impasse.

Then she pursed her lips and spit at me. I watched her eyes, trying to figure out what it meant, but I couldn't read her. I wanted to say something, but I had no words. It was like we predated language, trying to explore our situation, or relationship, without the aid of words. So I spit back at her: a gob of saliva on her upper lip. My mother stuck out her tongue and licked her lip, sucking my spit into her mouth. Her lips were parted, her breathing heavy. I leaned down upon her, stunned that I was about to kiss my mother on the lips.

"Let me go," she said it so quietly that I barely heard it, but I had been looking at her lips as she spoke. I let go of her arms, and she rolled me off of her, then ran up the stairs. I listened to the door slam. There were signs of our struggle all over. Furniture out of place, a jug of milk that had fallen off the counter. I began cleaning up, trying to get ahold of what had happened. I couldn't understand. Had it been fighting, or had it been sex? Had I violated her in some way? I hoped I hadn't. I finished cleaning up, then went upstairs, and listened at her door. Silence. I went to my room, my mind return to Morag, and I hurried to see if she had sent me an email.