May 08

The Matrons of Regal Bay Ch. 34

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The Matrons of Regal Bay

Chapter 34

Maggie’s Tales — Part 1

Margaret O’Hara arrived home, exhausted as usual, shortly after five-thirty. Since moving to Regal Bay just over two years before, Maggie, as she wanted to be called, had not taken a vacation, nor had she taken any real extended time off. The last two years for the 44-year-old had been stressful, to say the least. With her husband incarcerated in Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary for tax fraud, tax evasion, and a full list of other issues, Maggie had to work hard to put together a fresh start on life for herself and her children.

Maggie Jenkins and Roger O’Hara had been certified public accountants back home in Chicago when they met at a job interview. They both applied for the same position though neither landed it. Instead, they got together and set up their own small shop. In time, they established themselves as a neighborhood tax office. They also fell in love, married, and started a family, though there was more and a decade between their oldest son Patrick and his two siblings, Katy and Arty.

Maggie had given birth to Patrick at 22, but complications following his birth prevented Maggie and Roger from having more children right away. Maggie had to go through multiple treatments before she was physically able to conceive again, though it wasn’t until she was in her mid-thirties that Arthur, and then two years later Katherine, were born. By this point, O’Hara Tax Services had already come under the eyes of the IRS and local authorities.

Life had been good and getting better for them, right up until Maggie and Roger had been indicted for tax fraud regarding several accounts maintained by their small company. As it turned out, and unknown to Maggie, Roger had taken on several accounts tied to Chicago-area organized crime. Roger was eventually convicted of several tax-related crimes, thanks in no small part to a local mobster who decided to take everyone with the slightest tie to his organization down with him. Maggie had been cleared of any wrong-doing, though their family business was closed, her license as a CPA in the state of Illinois was revoked, and all their assets, along with their home and two cars, were seized. Even before Roger’s sentencing, Maggie had decided to leave Chicago and start anew elsewhere.

Having moved her children back in with her parents for the short term in South Bend, Maggie began a lengthy job search. Learning of an opening through and on-line search engine, Maggie borrowed money from her father to fly out to Eugene, Oregon, where she interviewed with a private accounting firm. It went well and soon she was offered a position in the firm’s new Regal Bay office. She would be one of four CPA’s working with several business clients around the area, she was told. However, within months of relocating her children to the small bay-side city, Maggie was again out of work when the office was closed. Through an acquaintance, Maggie was introduced to Frank Vaughn, who subsequently hired her on at Bayside Realty. She had been working long hours there since.

It was shortly after six in the evening on a warm Tuesday in mid-June when she got home. Patrick wasn’t home, nothing unusual there, even though she knew he had only worked a half day. “Little shit’s probably out fucking around with his friends as the beach, again,” Maggie muttered to herself as she dropped her purse into the sofa. She kicked off her heels and padded through to the kitchen, where she pulled a cold bottle of beer from the refrigerator. It was one of those expensive regionally brewed craft beers that her son enjoyed. Maggie didn’t really care for micro-brews, favoring instead traditional Budweiser, her late father’s beer of choice. Still, the Diamond Knot IPAs were all she had in the refrigerator until she made a trip to the store, so she popped the cap, tossed it into the trash as she left the kitchen, and headed for the dining room. Along the way, she sent a text to her sitter, letting Carol know that she was home now and could bring her two youngest children home any time she liked.

The small office desk where they kept the family computer sat at one end of the small room, next to the window that faced the driveway. The afternoon sun was bright across the desk so she rolled the shades down before settling into the creaky, second-hand leather desk chair. Each evening Maggie ritualistically checked her e-mails, though she rarely responded to any that weren’t business specific. It was the primary means by which she kept up with her family back in Chicago and Northern Indiana. It was also how her husband’s lawyer kept her informed about the on-going investigations, not that she gave a shit anymore. She had been cleared across the board. Her husband had taken the fall and was serving the time, but she was left with having to deal with putting her life back together. She wondered which was worse.

Maggie had gulped back nearly half of the beer as the computer started up. Once ready, she typed in her personal password and then went through her personal e-mails quickly, finding nothing güvenilir bahis of interest or importance there. She started to head for the Facebook icon, but instead went back to the start-up screen and typed in her son’s password. As if Patrick thought she didn’t know it, she grinned to herself. Using his beer’s name as a password. It had been over a week since she’d checked on his personal files and browser history. Not that she cared, but she was interested in whether he had been in communications with his locked-up father or not.

However, the first thing she noticed when his homepage came up was the several new file folders on the desktop. It wasn’t the files themselves that caught her attention, but the notations beneath each.

“What the fuck!” she blurted out. Nearly every single folder had the tags “Mother”, “Mother-Son”, or “Incest” attached. Maggie highlighted one folder with “Mother-Son” beneath it and found an extensive list of files. They were coded strangely but each had the “Mother-Son”, “M-S” or some similar notation attached. She clicked on the top file and a video player popped up in a second window. Maggie moved the curser to it and clicked on the run button. The movie, obviously home-made and amateur, began, and as Maggie watched, she realized that it was a movie of a young man having sex with an older woman. The resemblance between the two, who had to be nearly thirty years in age apart, left no doubt as to what Maggie was watching. It was incest! A son and mother having intercourse. Mother-Son sex.

“You have got to be kidding me!” Maggie gasped. She stopped the video, the son in mid stroke driving his dick up his mother’s ass centered in the screen, and clicked on the next listing down. Again, an obvious mother-son video, this one a different couple, lying in a big bed, with her eventually atop him riding his long cock through orgasms. Several minutes later, the video ended and Maggie shamefully realized that she had watched the entire movie, nearly ten minutes in length, and yet it was a blur in her mind. She clicked on the next listing, and then the next. All the movies featured similar themes of older women fucking, or rather getting fucked, by much younger men. It began to dawn on Maggie that her son was a true pervert.

“Is this what Patrick enjoys?” she asked the empty house. “Does he like watching older women fuck young guys, their own kids?” She suddenly realized that Patrick had been looking at her strangely at times over the last few weeks. In fact, she recalled several times when she was sure she had closed her bedroom, or the bathroom door, and yet found them slightly open. “Has Patrick been watching me? Is he hot for me, his own mother?” As she thought about it, Patrick’s behavior had been going on for some time. At least since his father had been jailed and they had been forced to live in closer quarters. Even back in South Bend, living with her parents, Maggie recalled several times that her then teen-aged son seemed to always catch her in awkward moments, half-dressed in her bedroom or walking in on her in the bathroom. Had he been doing it on purpose, all of these years, she wondered?

In that moment, Maggie heard the deep growl of Landon Stevens’ truck approaching. Landon often gave Patrick rides as the two young men worked together at Stevens’ Brothers Lawn and Garden Service, a landscaping company owned by Landon’s father and uncle. Maggie started to log off from her son’s account, but instead she simply shut down the monitor. She wanted to confront Patrick about his secret world, but wasn’t going to do it in front of Landon, should he stick around. To Maggie’s relief, however, Landon’s truck pulled away a moment after stopping out front, and Patrick entered through the side door.

“Patrick,” Maggie called, and her son replied with a simple, “It’s me.” Maggie left the desk and with the nearly empty beer bottle in hand, she found Patrick in the kitchen, where he was also grabbing a beer upon his arrival. “Get me another, would you?” Maggie asked her son as she tossed the empty into the trash can.

“Hey! I paid for those!” Patrick told her. Still, he pulled a fresh beer, the last, from the refrigerator and handed it to her. He tossed his cap into the trash can and passed her, headed down the hallway towards his bedroom. He stank of sweet and dirt, and Maggie realized that he must have been putting in a few extra hours of work and not goofing around at the beach. She was wrong to assume he had been out screwing around. Was she wrong about him having desires for her as well, she wondered? And yet, as she pulled a deep gulp of her fresh beer, she felt a need that maybe her son could in fact fill for her.

In the twenty-eight months since moving to Regal Bay, Maggie hadn’t dated anyone on a regular basis. She was technically still married to Roger, even though he wouldn’t be out for anther sixteen years. She hadn’t had sex of any kind, she realized, since leaving Chicago behind, and that had been a one-off with a guy she had known from the sandwich shop next door to their office for three years. Kind of a give-in fuck türkçe bahis to a guy who’d hit on her and flirted with her non-stop, even as she had to defend herself against the very same charges that had sent her husband to Leavenworth Prison. That one-off had been the last time Maggie had had any kind of sex, and it hadn’t been all that great, given the three-year build-up. Wham-bam-thank-you-ma’ am. Right in the backseat of the guy’s Ford Fusion, in the parking lot behind the building she no longer worked in.

Maggie heard Patrick bang the bathroom door closed, and a moment later the shower started up. Her son was cleaning up, as he always did after work. Except for the new knowledge her nibbing on the computer had uncovered, things around their household were holding to the usual routine. Maggie took another gulp of the beer, feeling it in her head for the first time, and set the bottle on the counter. She headed down the hallway and knocked on the bathroom door.

“What?” Patrick barked from inside the shower.

“I’m going to the store in a while,” she told her son. “I need you to watch the kids while I’m out. Carol will be dropping them off any time now. Is there anything you want or need? Anything special for dinner?”

“I’m going out to the movies with Landon,” he replied. “We’ll eat out. You can restock my beers, though, since you’ve drank them all.”

“I only had the two,” she insisted.

“Get a case of Sam Adams, instead,” he told her, adding, “The Summer Ale. Landon says they’re pretty good.”

Maggie started to turn away, but hesitated. She looked at the door knob, and then said, “I’ve got to pee before I leave.”

“Really? Can’t I get any privacy in this house?” Patrick moaned.

Maggie opened the door and said, “Until we can afford a better house, we’re stuck sharing the same bathroom.” She left the door slightly ajar as she moved to the toilet. Just beyond the shower doors, which for the first time she realized were a frosted glass, Maggie could make out her son’s tall, lean form. She realized that he was standing there, just a few feet away from her, naked and wet. She paused, watching his figure move in the shower, before reaching under her black skirt to tug her panties down. She settled onto the toilet and began to urinate, and yet all the time she was looking at her son.

“What am I doing?” she muttered to herself. Still she watched, and suddenly, she imagined that the women in the videos might have been in just such a situation as she now found herself in. Did they wonder about their own sons’ lusts for them? Did they unconsciously give their sons signals that encouraged them into incest? Was that what Maggie was doing, sitting in the bathroom watching her son shower? She never infringed on his bathroom time before. She always waited until he was finished and the bathroom free before she relieved herself. What was she doing now, sitting bare-assed on the toilet, watching her son shower?

“Are you still in here?” Patrick moaned, and Maggie realized that she’d finished pissing long ago. She quickly wiped herself, and then stood up.

“I’m done,” she told him, and yet, instead of pulling up her panties, she stepped out of them, leaving them on the floor, beneath the sink. She had no idea why she did it. She quickly washed her hands and told him, “I’m heading for the store now. Don’t be out late, okay? You’ve got work in the morning.”

“Really, Mom?” Patrick grunted as he shut off the shower. “I think I can take care of myself. I know I’ve got to work in the morning.” As she stepped through the doorway, Patrick pulled the shower door open and Maggie got a brief glimpse of her son, tall, naked, and sporting a long, semi-erect cock as he stepped out. She just managed to pull the door shut before his eyes could notice her staring. Her son had indeed grown up.

Back in the kitchen, Maggie grabbed up her purse, stepped into a pair of flats, and headed out to the driveway before her son finished in the bathroom. She’d forgotten that she hadn’t any panties on until she was already in her 4-year-old Chevy Malibu and backing out into the street. As she pulled away, she gave Carol and her two youngest children a wave as they walked along the sidewalk. Carol Lightford, a curly red-haired eighteen-year-old high school senior, lived around the corner from the O’Hara’s and had been baby-sitting for Maggie since she and her children moved in. Carol had a crush on her oldest son, but Patrick seemed to not see her. After her latest discovery about her son and his on-line viewing habit, Maggie understood why that was. Carol was just too young for him.

The store was a few miles away, and by the time she’d finished shopping and had returned home, Patrick was already gone for the evening. Carol sat in the living room with the young ones watching SpongeBob SquarePants on television.

“Patrick asked me to stick around, until you got back from the store,” Carol explained. The teen assisted Maggie in putting away the groceries without being asked.

“How have you been, Carol?” Maggie asked. She knew that the teen had a güvenilir bahis siteleri rough home-life. Her father was a fisherman and even on the few days he was home he spent down by the marina in the bars. Her mother was just as bad. Paula Lightford was a notorious drunk and had been arrested on several drunk and disorderly charges through just the two years Maggie had known them. Carol was their only child and seemed very mature for her age, even though she was soon to graduate. Maggie knew that she was smart enough to attend college but wouldn’t go, since her family would not have the money to send her. Her family barely had money to pay the bills, or so Maggie had heard.

“Pretty good, I guess,” Carol answered.

“Seeing anyone?” Maggie asked as she pulled a Pepsi for each of them from the refrigerator and handed one to the teen.

Carol blushed and shook her head. “Not really.”

“Well, a pretty girl like you should be hounded day and night,” Maggie said. “I’m really surprised that you’ve not been snatched up.”

“I have been seeing a guy,” Carol admitted a moment later. “He’s older, so I don’t like to talk about it.” She shrugged, not elaborating any further.

Maggie looked at her sitter for a moment, and then asked, “Is he old enough that he’s married? Is that it?”

Carol looked up with shock on her face, and then shook her head. “No, no! It’s not that,” the teen demanded, but Maggie could tell that she was lying. “He’s not married,” Carol added unnecessarily.

Maggie patted her on the arm. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me, if it is a secret.”

Carol smiled weakly. “Please, don’t tell anyone, okay? I don’t want people talking about me.”

“I won’t, Carol.”

“I just…well…I like older guys, you know?” she admitted. Carol glanced towards the living room to make sure neither of the young one were snooping before adding, “I don’t know what it is. I just think men are so much better for me right now, better than guys my own age.”

“Patrick’s older than you, you know,” Maggie offered. “And he’s not married.”

“Patrick doesn’t like girls my age, he told me so. Besides, I think he’d rather make out with girls older than him.” Carol gave Maggie a look, and the older woman suspected that this teen-ager knew more about her son and his sexual cravings that she did. “I think he even likes women more your age, Mrs. O’Hara.”

Maggie let that comment sit for a moment, and then made one of her own. “Do you like men more my age, Carol?” She knew the answer before the teen responded.

“I think I do,” Carol said in a hushed voice. “This guy I’ve been seeing, you know, well, he’s like in his thirties.” She paused. “He’s married, with a kid even,” she shrugged again. She then looked up and blatantly told Maggie, “He’s one of my teachers from school.”

“Oh, my,” Maggie gasped, and then giggled. “You’ve not only got a crush on a teacher, but you’re seeing him on the low-down! My, have you grown up, young lady! Don’t worry, Carol. Your secret is definitely safe with me.”

After that, their conversation turned to more mundane things, and Carol ended up staying for dinner. After helping with the dishes, Carol told her, “I wish my mom was like you, Mrs. O’Hara.”

“Carol, please. Call me Maggie. After all, we’ve been talking about your sex-life, so we’re on a first-name basis now I think.”

“Okay. Maggie.” Carol gave her a quick hug before leaving for home. It was nearly nine and time for Maggie to get her two youngest into bed. There was nothing on television she was interested in, and Maggie found herself drawn back to the computer desk. Soon she was once again typing in her son’s password. This time, she went to the bottom of the page, to the oldest down-loads. She wanted to watch his entire library, from start to finish as it were, although there were more than thirty once she counted them.

One of the files was marked “RBMoms” and had nearly a dozen films listed. Maggie selected the first on the list and settled back to watch. It only took her a moment to recognize the woman involved. It was a university professor, Cynthia Price, having sex with not just one but two young men. Maggie had no idea of either, or both, were her sons. The video had been filmed from a stationary position and the sound was so bad that nothing said could be made out. But Maggie indeed recognized the woman. She’d met her some time back at a meet-and-greet at Bayside.

After that, Maggie browsed through the “RBMoms” files quickly and realized that more than a few of the movies “starred” people she knew or recognized from around Regal Bay. “What the hell is going on around here?” she muttered to herself, drunkenly, as the effects of the vodka was taking hold.

So it was that Maggie, still seated in front of the computer with a video playing, was surprised by her son when Patrick returned home. He had come through the kitchen and had a bottle of the Sam Adams in hand when he came up to her. When he realized just what his mother was watching, he reached across his mother’s arm and hit the escape button, dumping the on-line link. He even pushed her back from the desk, rolling the chair against the wall as he stepped between her and the computer. “What are you doing, Mom? That’s my stuff! How did you get into my personal shit?” he growled.

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