“Oh Bobby, it’s good to see you!” Madolyn greeted her son at the front door. Her shoulder-length auburn hair framed her beaming smile and pretty cheekbones. The cobalt blue sweater she was wearing and the white mid-length skirt intuitively flattered her figure. She had just turned 40 two months ago, and perhaps her metabolism hadn’t geared down yet like most 40-somethings, but she just naturally stayed fit with her everyday activities.
“Mom, it’s good to be home,” Bobby grinned. At 5 foot 9, he was two inches taller than her. He’d hoped for taller still, but he had to admit that at 21, he was probably done growing. So no basketball player, he.
“C’mon, give me a hug,” she gestured. “I know you’re all grown up, but you can still hug your mom.”
He relented and wrapped his arms around her shoulders.
“It’s good to have you home,” she broke the hug. “Can you stay the whole weekend?”
“Yep,” he picked up his bags and carried them through the door, “though I’ll need to start the drive back Sunday afternoon.”
“Well, carry those bags back to your room and get settled in, then come on out to the kitchen. I’ve made some macaroni and cheese, and I’m going to fry some pork chops.” She had to giggle at his excited expression. “Yeah, young men and their stomachs,” she drawled with a nod.
Bobby headed back to his old room and unpacked a few things, then headed out to the best meal he’d had in three months—the last time he visited home.
He over-ate. “Ohgod, that was good,” he moaned with a grin afterward.
“Well, I’m glad to have you home. Even if it’s only for the weekend.”
“You know what would top it off, though?”
He reached to his back pocket and retrieved his wallet, then pulled a dollar bill out of it and held it up. “I’ll give you a dollar if you go get me a cold beer.”
She flicked her hand. “Oh, you don’t have to give me a dollar,” she stood. “Now the beers are the ones left over from New Years, though.”
“That’s not too old,” he grinned.
Madolyn disappeared, then came back carrying a glass and the beer, and handed them to him.
“You’re the best!”
“Hey, hey,” she snapped her fingers, “Where’s that dollar? Hmm?”
“You said I didn’t have to give you—”
“Mm-hmm, but you offered.”
Smiling oddly, he pulled it back out of a pocket and held it out, where she took it.
They talked while he finished the beer, then he helped take the dishes to the sink, where she washed them. While she was doing that, he went into the den and flipped on the TV, then clicked through some channels.
“I think there’s a historical drama,” she entered the room, “set in Elizabethan—”
“Chick-flick,” he dismissed the idea, still clicking through channels looking for an action movie of some kind.
“We’re going to be sentenced,” she arched an eyebrow and sat on the couch, “to endure through some film only a college boy could like. Aren’t we?”
“If I can find something,” he grinned, still clicking. “Hey, I’ll tell you what, though,” he set the remote on a cushion, reached into his back pocket for his wallet, and withdrew a bill. “I’ll give you a dollar for a kiss.”
She frowned at him oddly, then leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, then reached for the bill.
He didn’t let go of it. “On the lips.”
She studied him a minute, tilting her head. Then she ... leaned in and kissed her son on the lips.
He released the dollar to her this time.
She ... took it. And slipped it into the pocket of her skirt.
He went back to flipping through channels, and she considered. She shouldn’t have done that. They ... didn’t kiss on the lips, her and him. That would be ... weird. And this was the second dollar bill he’d offered her—why was he doing that anyway? “The, uhm, kids at college. They ... offer each other dollar bills for things?”
“Nope,” he said without looking away from the television, “just me.”
Odd, she thought. Well, he didn’t need to get in the habit of trying to do that with her. She was his mother, and she wasn’t going to be bribed into letting him get away with things.
And certainly not with just a dollar bill! Hmm?
He found an action film, and they stayed on that channel for a while, watching it.
On about the third commercial break, he pulled another dollar bill out of his wallet and held it up. “I’ll give you a dollar for another kiss on the lips.”
“Hungh-ungh,” she shook her head. “We don’t kiss on the lips. And what’s it with you offering dollar bills for everything anyway?”
He was looking back at the TV set. “Oh, nothing.”
“Because it’s kind of insulting.”
“Hey,” he folded the bill with his fingers and tucked it in his shirt pocket, keeping his gaze at the television, “if you don’t want it, don’t do it. No offense taken.”
“Well, I’M taking offense, young man. You don’t just go offering dollar bills to people to do things. It’s rude. And if you do that to people, it’s going to make them angry. Including me.”
He shrugged without looking at her.
“Hey, mister,” she reached to take his chin and turn his head toward her. “Don’t ignore me. I’m your mother. And I don’t care what kind of fad behaviors kids at the university are doing, you are not going to be rude to people. Understood?”
He had the decency to look embarrassed. “Yes, ma’am,” he dropped his eyes.
“Good,” she nodded and took her hand back from his chin. Then sat back as the film came on again after the commercial break.
She tried to pick up where the plot was, at least what little plot these action movies tended to have.
Except ... something was nagging at her.
Small at first, but it just kept drawing her attention back to it from the film.
It was like those times when you know you’ve locked the front door after going out—you even checked to make sure it was locked—but ... you just had to go back and check it again.
Her attention kept getting pulled back that something was ... wrong.
That she ... needed to do something.
But she ... wasn’t going to do that. She was not going to kiss her son on the lips again.
She had no idea why she’d done it the first time—she guessed just shock at the rudeness that he’d offered her a dollar bill for it. But she was certainly not going to do it again, for godssake!
She focused her attention back on the shitty movie.
The next commercial break, she leaned over and pressed her lips to his.
“There, okay?” she asked as she reached for his shirt pocket for her bill.
But he was holding his fingers there, not letting her take it. “For the whole commercial break.”
“Okay, he shrugged,” and started watching the commercials with interest.
No, she wasn’t going to do that. The two of them did not kiss on the lips. And even though she’d had that persistent itch, the nagging urge to kiss him and get the dollar bill ... even though she’d finally leaned over and scratched the urge by pressing her lips to his, after going on earlier how they didn’t do that and that she wasn’t going to do it again ... well, she wasn’t going to scratch that urge for the entire commercial break!
He was studiously watching the commercials, and she leaned back and crossed her arms, irked. No way. What?! Kiss him on the lips for the whole commercial break?! No! She was his MOTHER!
The little jerk just kept watching the TV, and got back interested in the movie when it came back on after the break.
What the hell?! She was not about to kiss her son for, like, a minute during the break. It would be like ... making out or something! And—
And why the hell did he want to kiss his MOTHER for a whole minute or two anyway?!
It was just too disturbing to even consider doing!
She couldn’t even distract her mind with the movie. She was just not about to kiss her own son, on the lips, for a minute or two. It just wasn’t right. Mothers and sons didn’t DO that!
She didn’t even know why she wanted the dollar bill.
Folded and tucked there in his pocket.
She had lots of dollar bills, she certainly didn’t need that one.
Sitting there. In his shirt pocket.
She leaned over and pressed her lips to his.
“Give me the dollar,” she told him around the kisses and reached for his pocket.
But his hand wouldn’t let her slip hers into his pocket to fish for the dollar bill. “If we ... mmm ... keep this up ... until the end ... of the next commercial break ... I’ll give you the dollar ... mmm ...”
But she ... kept kissing him.
He started licking her lips with the tip of his tongue. Her own son!
She ... let him.
But she DIDN’T let his tongue into her mouth! That would just be WAAAYYY too weird!
Not that kissing with your son for ten minutes wasn’t weird enough itself.
Gawwd, this was humiliating! She was actually ... making out with her own son! For a dollar bill!
She wasn’t ABOUT to admit that he ... was a pretty good kisser.
Or that his lips were ... pretty soft, but firm.
Shit! The next commercial break had started, but when would it end?!
So that she could ... stop. Kissing her son.
Letting him ... lick her lips. Softly.
“There,” she breathed the moment the movie came back on and reached for his pocket. “The commercial break is over.”
He looked at her and smiled as she pulled the dollar bill out of his pocket.
“It’s mine,” she informed him.
He turned back to the movie.
She ... held it up and studied the damned bill. She’d ... kissed her own son for almost ten minutes for this.
Was it worth it? She almost laughed out loud at the ludicrousness of that. A lousy one dollar bill? And she had ... done things she couldn’t even talk about for it. What the hell?!
She really did study it. Because something seemed ... wrong about it. Like it was green, but almost ... seemed like it might be ... red? ... blood red ... if she only looked closely enough at it.
She studied it—her little piece of treasure, worth weirdly kissing with her son—for twenty minutes, until the movie ended. She looked up, and it was 11:00.
“Well,” Bobby stood up, yawning, “I think I’m off to bed.” He looked at her. “But, I’ll give you another dollar bill,” he pulled one out of his pocket and held it up to her, “if we French kiss for another ten minutes.”
“Go ... to ... hell,” she informed him slowly.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he chuckled as he tucked the bill back into his pocket. “G’night, Mom.”
She watched him stroll back to his bedroom.
That little bastard. And what was with him and these kisses anyway? How could he want to kiss HER? His mother?
And how could he treat her like she’d just kiss him for money. For a single dollar bill.
As she’d just done twice?
Well, the little bastard wasn’t getting tongue from her. French kissing, indeed. God, had he actually licked her lips?! His own mother’s?
She turned off the TV, cleaned up and turned off the lights, then headed back to bed herself.
Bobby was awakened at 3:00 in the morning by the lips pressed to his. “Mmmph?”
“You little bastard!” Madolyn hissed before she stuck her tongue into his mouth.
Then started ... swapping spit with her 21 year old son ...
God, that was wrong on so many levels ...
She watched his alarm clock as she tongue-danced with him, sometimes in his mouth, sometimes in hers.
And at 3:15, she pulled hers out. “That’s it. We’re done,” she informed him.
“Wow, Mo—” he breathed, “uh, Madolyn, you’re ... a pretty good kisser.”
Her cheeks flushed in the dark at receiving a compliment like that. From her son. And she ignored the disrespect of using her first name—though they HAD just made out for ten minutes, so maybe that was proper protocol. Instead, she glared at him, “It’s mine. I earned it. Where’s my dollar bill?”
“In my pants pocket,” he pointed across the dimly lit room to where he’d tossed his pants over the back of his desk chair.
Madolyn went to them and fished her dollar out of the pocket.
She started to walk out, then glanced back over her shoulder. “Bobby, this is so wrong. And I can’t believe you would treat me this way. And I am ... so disappointed ... in you.”
She took another step toward the door before he called to her, “But you’re happy to have the dollar, aren’t you.”
Cheeks flushing dark, she stepped out of his room.
God help her, she ... was.
Madolyn sat at the kitchen table, sipping her coffee. Still embarrassed that she had—well, she couldn’t believe she had ... French kissed her own son for ten or fifteen minutes last night.
But the idea of earning that dollar had kept itching at her until she finally relented and ... well, made out with her son.
Which was just insane.
What was it about earning these dollar bills that ... well, that made her stick her tongue in her son’s mouth and allow his into hers.
Ewww! She shuddered. It was just wrong. But it was like a compulsion or something.
Her little stash was stacked in front of her. Four dollar bills. Her wages of son-kissing sin.
Picking the top bill up, she studied it again. There was something wrong with it. If she looked directly at it, it was a perfectly normal green dollar bill. But if she held it off to the side and looked away, and studied it out of the corner of her vision, she swore it was printed with blood red ink. And it wasn’t Washington’s neat face printed in the middle. It looked like someone had written something out in cursive on it. Perhaps in blood?
She looked up from the bill when Bobby came into the kitchen. He saw her studying it and smirked a little, and she set it back down on the stack. “Bobby ... we need to talk.”
He didn’t answer, but poured himself a cup of coffee instead, then joined her at the table and gazed out the window.
“Bobby, honey, what’s going on?”
“Hmm?” he didn’t look at her, “Nuthin’.”
“Bobby, what’s with the dollar bills? And ... offering them to me to do things?”
He just took a deep breath and sighed slowly. “This is good coffee,” he declared finally.
He pulled a dollar out of his t-shirt pocket and held it up. “I’ll give you a dollar if you sit in my lap and we make out while we have our ‘discussion’.”
“Bobby, that’s exactly what I mean. Why are you doing that? Why are you offering me ... money ... to do things?”
“Mmm-mm,” he mumbled noncommittally, and set the bill on the table in front of him.
“And why do you want to kiss me? Bobby, mothers and sons ... they don’t ... they just don’t kiss like that.”
He took another sip of coffee, just gazing out the window.
“And you keep offering me a dollar, like I were some tramp that would just give out kisses for ones or something. It’s very insulting. Why are you doing this?”
He was enjoying the bird hopping around on the porch railing outside the window, and their muffled birdsong.
“Bobby, why do you keep offering me dollars to kiss you?”
And ... WHY did she want them so badly?!
“Nnngg!” she let out a frustrated growl, then stood, stepped around behind him and ... sat in his lap. And ... wrapped her arms around his neck.
And ... pressed her lips to his.
For ... like, a minute.
Then she broke the kiss and twisted to pick his dollar off the table and set it over on top of her stash.
Then she twisted back around and went back to kissing. Her son. On the lips. While she sat in his lap.
Ohgod, this was so wrong ...
“So why ... mmm ... do you keep wanting ... mmm ... to kiss me, Bobby?”
“Mmm ... isn’t that obvious ... mmm ... Madolyn? ... You’re ... mmm ... a beautiful woman ... mmm ... with VERY kissable lips.”
A son SOOO should not be saying that to his mother.
“Why ... mmm ... do you keep ... mmm,” his tongue entered her mouth at this point, and she ... well, she let it. She let him.
Okay, she also ... sort of sighed.
But she willed herself to keep focus. “But why ... mmm ... do you keep ... mmm-mm ... ohgod, baby ... mmm ... I mean—I didn’t say that. I didn’t just moan that to you. Forget I just said that—mmmph ... mmm ... Bobby,” she broke the kiss, then relented and let him press his lips back to hers. “why do you ... keep offering me ... mmm ... dollar bills?”
He chuckled and grinned. “Because I want to kiss you, silly woman.” Then he did, again.
“Bobby,” she sputtered, breaking the kiss, then looked him directly in the eye. “Why do I WANT to? Why am I KISSING you? For a dollar?!”
“Because you’re a hot, sexy—”
“Bobby! I am your MOTHER!”
“With very kissable—”
“Bobby! Stop that!”
He pressed his lips back to hers.
She ... let him. And after a minute, she ... couldn’t help sighing a little. As they made out. Mother and son.
Ohgod, what was she doing?
They made out a few minutes until Bobby took another dollar bill from his pocket and held it up. She broke the kiss, and her eyes followed the damned bill.
“I’ll give you a dollar bill—”
“Bobby, don’t,” she whispered as she stared at the bill.
“—if you walk around the house today without your shirt. In just your bra.”
“No. No way,” she shook her head and pulled her gaze from the bill to stare at him dead on. “Absolutely not,” she informed him. “That’s in no way, shape or form appropriate. And it’s not going to happen.”
He shrugged and slipped the bill back into his pocket.
She pulled her eyes from that pocket, where the bill was now waiting. “No,” she reiterated, “No way.” She stood up out of her son’s lap, where had just spent the last 15 or 20 minutes making out. With tongue. “And I can’t believe that you—Bobby, what is WRONG with you?!” She was still a little flushed from ... you know, hot and heavy kissing. With her son. But she ignored that. “What has HAPPENED to you?! You don’t ... offer your mother money to KISS you! And you CERTAINLY don’t offer her money to ... go around TOPLESS! You should be ashamed for even ASKING me to do that!”
“I just made an offer,” she shrugged, “You don’t have to take me up on it.”
“And I. Am. Not. Going. To. But what is WRONG with you?! Why are you not ashamed for even asking me to DO that?!”
He took a sip of his coffee and gazed out the window again.
“Goddammit, Bobby! I’m your mother! We can’t be ... kissing like that. And I am CERTAINLY not going to go TOPLESS for you. How you can even ASK me that is just—”
“Hey, I’m going to head back to my room a while,” he stood and stepped toward the door, carrying his coffee cup, “and read a little bit.” And then he just walked off.
She just ... shook her head.
What the HELL was happening here?!
She sat back at the table and ... fingered her stash. Five bills now instead of four.
She folded them and tucked them in her pocket to get the damned things out of sight.
What was going on here ... ?
Madolyn did Saturday chores around the house, and by noon, she was still determined that this stopped here. No more. Her son was not going to get her to do another thing by offering her ... a dollar. And she most certainly was not going to run around without her blouse!
At noon, she headed to the kitchen to break for some lunch. She was so disgusted with her son that she didn’t even call him to join her.
But he must have heard her, because he showed up while she was fixing her sandwich. “Hey, Madolyn. You’re having a sandwich? I think I may just have some cold macaroni and cheese.”
“Bobby,” she sighed as she continued fixing her sandwich, “it’s disrespectful to call me by my first name. Please stop doing that.”
There was no response, so she turned around to see him at the refrigerator, digging the bowl of macaroni and cheese leftovers from last night out.
“Did you hear me?” she asked louder.
“Hmm?” he pulled the bowl out and closed the refrigerator, then got himself a bowl.
“I don’t want you calling me by my first name,” she tried a firmer hand with him, “That is disrespectful to me. You call me ‘mother’ or ‘mom’. You got that?”
A dollar bill appeared in his hand, which he held out to her. “I’ll give you a dollar if you stop bitching about me calling you ‘Madolyn’. AND if you call me ‘Mr. Caldwell’ or ‘sir’ for the rest of the day.”
She just gaped at him. “You have GOT to be kidding!”
He just looked back at her.
“I am NOT going to call you ‘Mr. Caldwell’, buddy! Who do you think you are?” The dollar he was offering her was ... still in his hand, right there ... in front of her.
“Well, you don’t want ME calling you by YOUR first name, so I think it’s only appropriate ... you know, that you see what it feels like.”
“And I think I have a little snot-nosed punk for a kid these days,” she snapped at him.
He shrugged and left the dollar on the table as he grabbed a big spoon and a little spoon, then started filling his bowl with cold macaroni and cheese.
They ate in silence a few minutes.
“I’m ... sorry,” she sighed five minutes later. “I ... shouldn’t have called you a ‘snot-nosed punk’.”
“Mmm,” he mumbled as he chewed, “you shouldn’t have.”
Damn, that dollar bill was still just lying there on the table. “So I’m sorry for calling you a name. I’m supposed to be the adult in this relationship. And I shouldn’t ... get snippy.
He continued eating his pasta.
The dollar bill continued to sit there.
Was it SOOO bad, really? If he called her by her first name? Madolyn knew lots of families where the kids did just that. It’s just that she was old-fashioned and thought it was more appropriate if ... her children didn’t do that.
But in the end, it didn’t REALLY matter. Not all that much, anyway. Right?
She finished her sandwich and carried the plate to the sink and rinsed it, then stepped back to the table. “Okay,”she sighed, “if it makes you feel THAT much better, Bobby, you can call me ‘Madolyn’.” She reached for the dollar bill.
But he moved his hand to it and pinched it and wouldn’t let go of it.
She looked at him.
He just looked back.
Her look hardened into a glare. “Really?”
He just looked at her.
With an exasperated sigh, she corrected herself. “If it makes you feel THAT much better, ‘MISTER CALDWELL’, you can call me ‘Madolyn’.”
Mr. Caldwell released the bill, and she added it to the stash in her pocket.
Bobby was laying across his bed reading at 2:00 when a not-unexpected call came up the hall. “Bobby, can you come out here to help me a minute?”
He ignored it.
After a minute, a flatter, more tired voice called up again, “‘Mr. Caldwell’, could you come out here to help me a minute?”
Bobby marked his place in his book and strolled up the hall, to be greeted by a very pretty, not-unexpected sight.
Madolyn stood there, shirtless, in just her pants and a black bra. Make no mistake, the bra was practical, no lace or frivolousness to it, but there she stood ... without a shirt ... in just a bra. For her son. For a dollar.
She flushed dark as he stared at her and grinned.
“God, you’re beautiful, Madolyn!”
She just closed her eyes and nodded, and held out her hand.
“I mean, you ought to run around like that all the time. You have a REALLY pretty figure, Madolyn.”
She kept her eyes shut as she endured this—if she refused to see this happening in her own living room, then maybe she didn’t really have admit that it WAS happening. Her, standing here. In just her bra. For her own son. For a dollar.
“God, I can’t get over how gorgeous you are!”
Yeah, yeah, just let this be over. Please, God?
“I mean, what are you, Madolyn? A C-cup?”
“Please, can I just have my dollar,” she sighed, “‘Mr. Caldwell’?”
She opened her eyes, and he was holding a bill out to her. She took it.
“Wait! Wait! Please! Could you ... tuck it in your bra?”
“Gawwd!” she rolled her eyes. Then ... folded the bill and tucked it in the bra cup, just to shut him up.
“That’s great! Thank you! I knew you could do it! I’m proud of you, Madolyn!” Then he headed back to his room to continue reading.
And Madolyn was so very disappointed in him. Even more in herself, for doing these things for him for money—but it was easier to dwell on being disappointed in her son.
She pulled the bill back out of her bra cup, and added it to her stash as she headed back to the kitchen to think.
Seven now. Seven dollar bills.
Madolyn sat at the kitchen table, staring at her seven dollar bills. Could she? Could she bear to do this?
She ... thought so.
She could ... offer one of these back to Mr. Caldwell, to stop all this shit and to behave himself. She thought she could bear to part with one of her seven bills for that.
And speak of the little bastard—“Madolyn,” he called from his room.
Sans blouse, she stood and walked back to his room. “Yes, uhm ... sir?”
He shook his head and grinned when he looked up at her shirtless self. “God, you look great, Madolyn!”
She nodded and endured it.
“Hey, could you go get me a cold beer?”
Because ... his legs must not work as well as hers. So she got to trot and bring him cold beers so he didn’t have to walk up the hall.
Or maybe he just wanted to gawk at her bra-clad C-cups. Which ... should SOOO not be on display for the little bastard.
“Yeah, anytime now, Madolyn. Thanks.”
With a sigh, she turned and headed back to the kitchen. She got him his damned beer. And she pulled one of her seven dollar bills out, then folded the other six and tucked them into her bra cup.
Then she walked “Mr. Caldwell’s” beer back to him.
She handed it to him, then stood there. Bracing herself and hurrying forward in case she had second thoughts, she held the one dollar bill out to him. “Mr. Caldwell, I will ...” she swallowed involuntarily and bludgeoned ahead, “I’ll give you a dollar if you stop all this ... stuff ... you’re doing and behave yourself.” There! She’d done it. “Hmm?”
Mr. Caldwell looked hungrily at the bill like he was seriously considering it. Like he almost couldn’t resist doing it. Like she suspected she looked when he made this improper offers to her.
And she’d just turned the tables on the little bastard. She’d KNOWN there was something wrong with these dollar bills! There was something about them that just made people ... DO things. To earn them. They were downright EVIL! But it didn’t matter how they worked, she’d figured out how to turn them against—
“Nah,” he said and went back to reading.
“H-hungh?” her voice cracked.
“Yeah,” he nodded with a tight little smile. “The bill—I don’t need it. I’m good.”
“But I’ll ... give you this dollar if you ... if you just behave yourself,” she tried again.
“Yeah, I got that,” he nodded, then shook his head, “But naw, I’m good.”
“But ... but ...” It wasn’t working on him ...
“Tell you what, though,” he reached for his wallet on the night stand and pulled out a dollar bill. “I’LL give YOU a dollar bill if you sit your bra-clad ass in my lap, Madolyn, and we make out for twenty minutes.”
Madolyn ... chewed her lip.
That was how Madolyn came to be sitting in her son’s lap, her bra-clad breasts on display for him, while her tongue wriggled around inside his mouth and her hands played around in his hair as sighs occasionally overflowed out of her mouth.
At least the little bastard kept his hands off her bra cups. She’d been afraid he was going to try to get fresh with her like that. But he was being—well, not a perfect gentleman, but at least a non-gropey perverted son.
Of course, she wasn’t about to admit that she was ... well, getting sort of ... you know, a girl can’t ... neck for that long without ... getting a little ...
Dammit, kissing WAS foreplay, okay? And so maybe she WAS just the slightest bit aroused. Okay?! It was just a physical reaction! Like getting gooseflesh when someone scratched the back of your neck, like ... Mr. Caldwell was doing to her now. And even if her nipples were a little ... perked up—well all that was completely hidden by the practical bra that she had picked out specifically because it covered even more than a bikini top would.
And ... another sigh leaked out of her mouth.