Porntastic Adventure Chapter 2

Porntastic Adventure by dellagordo

CHAPTER TWO

Two years passed. Andy graduated from high school and enrolled in the local community college, where he worked on getting a business degree. He remained at home, as much to save money as to stay close to his mother.

His lust and his attraction grew with each passing day, though he had no idea how to deal with them. Tracy, oblivious to the changes in her son, was simply happy to have him around. At first he was around as much as he could be, outside of work and school, in an effort to spend as much time with his mother as possible. It helped that so many of his friends left town for college, leaving him with a ready excuse to stay home on his weekend evenings.

In his spare time, he searched. On the internet, in adult bookstores, flea markets, and second hand shops, Andy looked for other Tig O'Bitties appearances. According to the IMDB, she made nearly a hundred films over the course of a four year period, and featured in two dozen men's magazines. Through diligence, hard work, and a willingness to spend whatever was required, Andy amassed quite a collection of Tig O'Bitties memorabilia. In two short years, he tracked down nearly half of her films -- "Big Titted Mamas" and "Carwash Whores" being his two favorites due to their all-female casts -- as well as some twenty magazines. Each day, Andy would jack off furiously to images of his mother's nude form, or to one of her films.

As his search continued, Andy put together a chronology of the events. All of the films his mother appeared in were made twelve to eight years beforehand. Those were the years immediately following the death of Andy's father, the victim of a drunk driver. Those were hazy years for Andy himself.

He took his father's death pretty hard, he recalled, and also didn't remember his mother being around much at the time. During those years, Andy spent most of his days with his grandmother or one of his aunts. They never really explained to him where his mother had gone, except to say she was "working," and she seemed to be working a lot. Now Andy knew what she had been doing, realized the sacrifices that she had been forced to make in order to make ends meet. For he knew, also, that his parents had married early, that his father had provided for them, and that following his father's death, his mother had to scramble to fill those vacant shoes.

Discovering his mother's secret past filled in some of the blanks, but there was still a great deal of unanswered questions. Why porn, for example? How had she made that decision? How had she been able to do it so secretly? At what point did she decide enough was enough? Yet the only way to find out the answers would be to broach the subject with his mother, and if he did that, he'd have to explain why he wanted to know.

That might get ugly. Especially as, he realized, he was becoming obsessed with her. His every waking moment was filled with maddening, incestuous fantasies. He was distracted, unfocused, and growing more distant with each discovery. Unsure of how to deal with his lust, consumed with guilt and self-loathing, Andy began to spend less and less time at home. He worked as much overtime as possible, spent long hours at the library, and tried to come home late every night, after his mother had gone to bed. He would sneak into his room and masturbate as quietly as he dared and as furiously as he needed, always to an image of his mother.

It was an untenable situation, but Andy didn't know what to do. He couldn't stay, and yet he couldn't leave either. Every moment spent in her presence was sheer, delicious torture. Yet he was afraid to spend more than a few minutes at a time with her, terrified he might blurt out something or, worse, force himself upon her. As his lust grew, so too did his misery.

For her part, Tracy could not fail to notice the changes in her son. He vacillated between being too attentive and being completely unavailable. He flinched when she touched him, yet would look at her with such tenderness it made her heart ache. He was such a smart, sensitive boy, and she worried about him constantly. Having to go to a community college because they couldn't afford to send him to a better school, left behind by his friends, forced to work his way through school; she thought back to the last time their family had faced financial difficulty, and what she had done to ensure Andy had clothes to wear to school, eyeglasses to see, books to read, food on the table, and a roof over his head.

Those had been wild, crazy years. Desperate years. The death of her husband, the love of her life, had nearly shattered her, as did the realization following his funeral that she did not possess the necessary skills to provide for herself or her son. Don had been a good provider, but in the few short years they had together, between the house, the car, Andy's medicine, and other expenses, Don had managed to accrue considerable debt.

Tracy had married Don right out of high school, had never had a job before, and had spent the first seven years of her marriage looking after Don and their son, never paying much attention to the financial side of things. But she was beautiful, and had always been sexually adventurous, and she had a friend who knew a guy who made pornographic films. She knew, looking back, that her decision had as much to do with the despair of losing Don as it had to do with the need to make as much money as possible, as quickly as possible.

And it was frighteningly, horribly fun. She had always been proud of her body, the effect she had on men, and she loved a good fuck as much -- or more -- as the next woman. The constant sex and the absence of true feelings had kept her going for a while, but eventually she missed her Andy, so she quit. With enough money socked away, she went back to school to broaden her horizons, and now she was a legal secretary, a professional woman. Those days were behind her, and if, occasionally, she looked wistfully back on all the sex she had, she did not miss the emptiness of it all.

But now her emotional center, her grounding point, her son, was drifting away from her, and Tracy didn't know why it was happening. It wasn't fair, considering what she had sacrificed to make sure he grew up right.

It occurred to her one Saturday afternoon, while cleaning the living room, that Andy might be taking drugs. She paused, turned off the vacuum, and stared into space for several long minutes. Tracy tried to shake that insidious thought. Andy was much too smart to poison his body, she told herself. Yet, what other explanation could there be for his mood swings and mysterious disappearances?

She checked the clock over the mantel, noted the lateness of the hour, and tried to guess whether Andy would be home for dinner that night, or whether he'd be out for all hours. She bit her lower lip, swept a lock of hair out of her eyes, and made a fateful decision. Before Andy came home, Tracy was going to search his room for drugs.