Chapter 1: A Mother's Welcome
The key turned in the lock with a sound like a sigh, and Derek shouldered his way into the familiar, overwhelming gloom of the house. The door hadn’t even clicked shut before the wave hit him.
“My baby!”
Marsha moved with a speed that defied her generous curves, a blonde blur in the dim hall. She crashed into him, her arms locking around his neck, and the duffel bag slipped from his shoulder to thump on the hardwood. The scent of her—vanilla perfume and fabric softener and something deeply, uniquely her—flooded his senses. Her massive breasts crushed against his ribcage, soft and suffocating.
“Mom,” he grunted, his voice muffled by her hair.
“I can’t believe you’re really here,” she moaned directly into his ear, her breath hot. Her body writhed against him in what might have been a hug; her thick thigh slid between his legs, grinding up against his jeans. A hand fluttered down his back, possessive, and came to rest squarely on the seat of his pants, squeezing. “I missed you so much it hurt.”
Over her shoulder, another figure approached, sniffling. Gerald, his dad—or “Geri,” as Mom called him—was already dabbing his eyes with a floral-patterned tissue. He wore a loose, soft cardigan that did little to hide his soft, thick build, his hips wider than his shoulders.
“Our boy,” Gerald whimpered. He didn’t tackle so much as envelop, adding his weight to the hug, pressing Derek back against the now-closed front door. Gerald’s face was damp as he planted quick, wet kisses on Derek’s cheek, his jaw, his forehead. “You look so thin. Didn’t they feed you? My smart, handsome boy.”
Derek stood trapped in the center of their clinging, weeping orbit. His coke-bottle lenses fogged slightly. “I’m okay. It was just a semester. Can I… breathe?”
They didn’t loosen their hold. If anything, Marsha tightened hers, nuzzling into his neck. He could feel every contour of her through his thin t-shirt. He shifted uncomfortably, a familiar, anxious pressure beginning to build in his groin, a physiological reaction to the sheer overwhelm of contact that he desperately willed away.
“Let’s get you comfortable,” Marsha purred, finally pulling back just enough to look at him, her hands sliding down to grip his biceps. Her eyes were gleaming and overly bright. “Geri, take his bag.”
“I got it, I got it,” Gerald said, swooping down on the duffel with another sniffle. “It’s so heavy! All those books. My brainy boy.”
They herded him, a two-person escort, into the living room. It was exactly as he’d left it, and yet it felt smaller, hotter. The floral couches sagged, their cushions indented with the permanent shapes of his parents. A single lamp on the side table cast a honeyed glow over the afghans and the scattered TV remotes. The air was close, smelling of the popcorn they’d clearly been eating and the cloying remnants of Marsha’s perfume.
Marsha guided him to the largest couch and pulled him down beside her, so close their legs were fused from hip to knee. Gerald instantly occupied his other side, a warm, soft weight leaning into him.
“Tell us everything,” Marsha demanded, one hand on his knee, her thumb stroking circles. “Was the food awful? Did you make friends? Were the girls nice?”
“It was fine. Classes were good.” Derek tried to lean forward, to create an inch of space, but Marsha’s arm was like a velvet vise across his back.
“He doesn’t want to talk about it, Marsha,” Gerald sighed, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder. “He’s overwhelmed. We’re overwhelming him. We’re just so happy.” He began to cry again, soft, blubbering sounds.
“We are! We’re just so happy!” Marsha echoed, her own eyes welling up. She turned Derek’s face toward her with a finger under his chin. “You can’t leave again. You just can’t. This house is a tomb without you.”
“Mom, I have to go back after break. It’s school.”
“Shh,” she said, pressing a finger to his lips. Her other hand was back on his thigh, high up. “We don’t have to talk about that now. We have you now.”
The pressure in his jeans was becoming insistent, a swollen, aching problem. He shifted again, trying to subtly adjust himself, but the movement made Marsha’s hand slide further inward. Her fingers brushed against the distinct, burgeoning ridge and paused.
Her breath hitched, just slightly. Her gaze flicked down for a millisecond, then back to his face, her expression softening into something even more syrupy. “You’re all tensed up, sweetheart. The drive must have been terrible.” Her hand didn’t move away. It rested there, a warm, heavy weight over the thick outline.
Gerald was now clinging to his arm, tracing the lines of his hand. “Remember when you were little? You’d let me hold your hand until you fell asleep. You have such beautiful hands.”
Derek felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. “I’m kinda tired. I should probably just go unpack.”
“Oh, no you don’t!” Marsha chirped, suddenly springing into action. She stood, pulling him up with her. “We’ll help! Geri, get the bag. We’ll get you all settled.”
It was less a walk and more a procession down the hall to his childhood bedroom. They flanked him, Marsha’s arm around his waist, Gerald clinging to his duffel strap like a life preserver.
His room was a shrine, untouched. Robotics team trophies, old sci-fi paperbacks, a faint layer of dust over everything.
The second he crossed the threshold, the energy shifted. It was their private space, the inner sanctum of their trio.
Marsha took the bag from Gerald and placed it on the bed. “We’ll do it,” she said, her voice dropping to a intimate murmur. “You just relax.”
“Really, I can do it myself,” Derek said, his voice tighter than he intended.
“Nonsense,” Gerald said, gently pushing him to sit on the edge of the bed. He knelt, surprisingly agile, and began unzipping the duffel. “Let us take care of you. You’ve been alone for so long.”
Marsha sat next to Derek, her hip pressing into his. She started with his shoes, bending over to untie them, her cleavage spilling forward inches from his face. The scent of her was overpowering. As she pulled his first sneaker off, her hand ran slowly up his calf.
“You’re home,” she whispered, looking up at him through her lashes.
Gerald was unfolding his clothes, holding up shirts to his own chest with a wistful smile. “Smells like that dorm laundry soap. It’s not as good as mine.”
Derek felt paralyzed. Every protest died in his throat under the weight of their desperate, loving attention. Marsha’s fingers were on his fly now, not undoing it, just tracing the metal teeth. Gerald moved from the duffel to kneel in front of him, placing his hands on Derek’s knees, looking up with watery adoration.
“We missed you every second,” Gerald said. “Every single second.”
Marsha’s lips were on his neck again, a soft, lingering kiss that was nowhere near maternal. “My big, grown-up man,” she breathed against his skin, her hand finally cupping him fully through the denim, feeling the immense, rigid length straining against the fabric. She let out a tiny, shuddering sigh. “See how much we need you? You can’t leave us alone again.”
The door to his bedroom, he noticed, was slowly drifting shut behind Gerald, clicking with finality. The golden light from the hall vanished, leaving only the dim glow of his old desk lamp. They were a tangle of hands and breath and clinging need in the half-dark, and the walls of his childhood room, which had once felt like a sanctuary, now felt like the soft, padded sides of a very deep well.