The Book of Masks (Vol. 5)

A Little Light Torture to Start With

Previously: "A Mother's Memories" 

You're still in a reverie—flinching over a childhood and education that were not your own; a childbirth experienced by another; the sense of the fleeting years as a wriggling infant sprouts into an awkwardly intelligent adolescent—when Caleb comes home. His appearance in the foyer startles you even more than the sound of the key in the lock, and for a quick, terrified moment you are certain he's going to recognize you—his former friend, Will Prescott—sitting on the sofa, wearing his mother's clothes, face and form. You come real close to greeting him as "Dude!"

If he notices your frozen-with-fear expression (or so you imagine it, for frozen in fear you are) he doesn't say anything, but trudges through the dining room for the kitchen with a downturned face. Jars rattle in the refrigerator door. There's a hanging moment, then you hear the sound of meat and vegetable drawers being opened and shut. But when he comes out, it's with a glass filled with tap water.

You've settled your nerves, mostly, but it's still with a beating heart that you ask him, "Are you home for the night, or going back out?"

"I'm back," he says as he heads for the hall.

"Who were you out with? Your friend Will?" You prickle all over with a feeling of almost hysterical glee.

His footsteps pause, and he calls back, "No, I was with James and Carson."

"I was wondering," you say, "because Will stopped by earlier. Right after I got home." Your heart races.

There's another lingering pause, and then Caleb appears from around the hallway corner. His expression is veiled. "Yeah, what'd he want?" he asks.

"Oh, he didn't text you? Well, I don't know, he didn't tell me." With slight malice you add, "I'm only your mother, not one of your friends, so I guess it was none of my business. He had a girl with him, though. A really pretty, blonde girl." You give him a direct look. "Does Will have a girlfriend now?"

If anything, Caleb's expression turns more vacant. "I 'unno," he mumbles.

"She was really pretty," you say. "If she's got a friend half as pretty, you should try setting up a double-date with them."

Caleb sways a little on his feet, then disappears back down the hall.

Score one for the good guys, you smirk to yourself.

* * * * *

You are feeling both bony and flabby as you get ready for bed. Bony because Sarah Johansson doesn't have a lot of padding on her, and flabby because what padding there is has started to sag. Her tits, once very firm (according to acquired memory) are softening, and her butt is sinking, and her thighs have no tone. As you study yourself in the bathroom mirror while washing your face and brushing your teeth and stroking out your hair, you see your expression growing more and more stony. Sarah Johansson was never a great "looker," though she got her share of attention in high school by being vivacious, but you can feel the morale slowly leaking from her as the sun of her life, now more than a little past its noon, bends more and more toward the west.

Well, you tell yourself briskly as, in a nightgown, you make a quick trip to the living room to get that paperback, I'm not here to be or feel pretty. I'm here to fuck with Caleb.

Right now, for instance, he is probably settling into bed with a pornographic fantasy queued up, and has his jerkoff rag or sock or whatever he uses at the ready. So you grin to yourself as you rap sharply on his door. You are rewarded with a quick squinch-squanch of bedsprings and a hurried, "Yeah?"

"Did I wake you up?"

"Uh, no."

"I'm opening the door."

"It's—!"

Too late! You grip and twist the knob as you push. But it's locked.

"Caleb?" you call.

"Hang on!" The bed creaks again.

"No, never mind, just as long as you can hear me! I wanted to ask you to fix breakfast in the morning. For both of us."

"Um ... Okay."

"I had a hard day and I'm probably going to sleep in a little. So as long as you're going to have to fix for yourself you might as well fix for both of us!"

"Alright."

"What time do you think you'll be getting up?"

"I don't know."

"Well, shoot for nine o'clock."

"Okay," Caleb groans.

You hover outside the door, wracking your brain for something else to bother him about, then give up and pad back to your bedroom with a feeling of disappointment. It's the little things that are going to make it worthwhile, you tell yourself, but you're only a little convinced.

* * * * *

You do set the alarm for nine, but you're awake before then, so you bang on Caleb's door early with the reminder that he's supposed to fix breakfast, and it's ready by the time you're out of the shower. It wasn't much of a chore you put on him, but you can tell by the expression on his face that it's all a little early for him.

"So what are your plans for today?" you ask as you munch your toast and watch the street through the dining room window. "Doing something with Will again?" you add before he can answer.

"No," he says, then adds, "Probably going to find something to do with Keith and some other guys."

"Oh, what other guys? I thought it was just you and Will and Keith." You ignore the quick, dirty look he gives you. "Is Will busy with his new girlfriend?"

"I guess," Caleb says in a tight voice.

"Honey, I hope you're not jealous," you say, and to your delight you're rewarded with a quick flash of pain that passes across Caleb's face. "Some of my friends in high school, I remember, when they got boyfriends or girlfriends, they let it get in the way of their friendships."

"I'm not jealous," Caleb says, tightly, and rises to take his unfinished breakfast into the kitchen. "Will can do whatever he—"

"I mean, I hope you're not jealous of the girl."

Caleb wheels with a ghastly expression on his face. When he says nothing, you ask, "What's her name again?"

"I'm not— I'm not jealous of her!" Caleb blurts out. "What do you mean?"

"Well, good! I hope you're not upset with her because, you know, your best friend is probably paying more attention to her than to you."

Caleb can only gasp and grunt inarticulately for a minute, before he finally bursts out with, "I'm not jealous!"

"Well, try getting together with him and her. Not as a third or anything. Don't you have a girlfriend—I mean, a girl friend—you could do like a double-date with them or anything?"

The pain on his face deepens. "Why are you trying to get me on a double date?"

"I'm not trying anything, Caleb, sweetheart," you tell him in your gentlest tone. "It just seems like you're upset with Will—"

"I'm not upset! Jeez, I'll call him now, I'll text him now!"

He rushes from the kitchen. You start to shout some discouragement after him—something like, I'm not trying to get you to do anything, honey!—but his bedroom door has slammed shut before you find the words. Idly, you wonder if he really is going to text your doppelganger, and what he'll say to him.

Then you put it out of your mind as you glance around the house. I need to vacuum and dust, you tell yourself. And clean the bathroom. Then you think, No, I need to put more of those chores onto Caleb.

But that's followed by an on-the-third-hand thought: Not today. I need to get him out of the house so I can have Sydney over. We should talk.

So when Caleb comes rushing out thirty minutes later, heading for the front door, you don't even ask him again about "Will," but ask if he's going to be out all day. I dunno, he mumbles. And then you tell him to try to stay out as long as possible, because you didn't sleep well and you feel a headache coming on, and you'll probably be laying down most of the day. He sighs and says he'll find something to keep himself busy.

* * * * *

"Mm," Sydney grunts, and gently pushes at you while pulling her mouth from yours. She froze when you pushed your tongue inside her mouth, and went very stiff as you gripped and squeezed her tight, beautiful body. You hold onto her still, and grin even as she backs off. "I wasn't expecting that, Mrs. Caleb's mom," she says. She blushes a little, and her eyes dart without meeting yours.

You're in the foyer, and you reach over to push the front door shut. She flinches slightly as you put your hand on her hip.

"I've just been missing you," you tell her as you guide her into the living room. "You," you say to "Will Prescott," who is standing awkwardly nearby, "can sit over there and keep quiet." Your replacement, with goggling eyes, settles into the only chair in the room, while you pull Sydney onto the sofa. You put an arm around her shoulders, but you don't pull her close. "It gets kind of lonely, and I keep thinking of you."

"That's flattering, Will," Sydney says. "Um, you know it's probably going to be hard for us to meet. Unless you've got a work girlfriend or someone I can be."

But you don't, really. Sarah a long time ago got used to sacrificing social life to work and to her son.

You do have one idea, though it's a wild one. You got it while reading that romance novel last night.

How badly would it screw with Caleb's head if his mom suddenly got a boyfriend?

Next: "For the Love of Sarah Johansson" 

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"Table of Contents (Vol. 5)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 5)"