Mom to the Rescue

(Author's note: This story is a fantasy, interlaced with a bit of humor here and there. It's a bit long and takes a little while to get going, but I'm a firm believer that story makes the read more enjoyable. It was inspired by the many times I've heard someone say they'd "do anything" in order to achieve a goal. Do they really mean "anything?" I decided to take a familiar situation and explore it down an alternate path. Enjoy the read.)

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"Please," I begged the man behind the counter. "Please, there MUST be a flight to St. Louis tonight."

The man looked embarrassed. As well he might, I suppose, as I'd been trying to find a flight for the past twenty minutes, and he was probably getting tired of this scene. I know I was.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but it is Christmas Eve and all the flights are booked." He started tapping keys on his terminal. "We can get you a ticket for tomorrow night..."

"No," I interrupted him crossly, "that's Christmas day. I have to be home before then!"

"I'm sorry," he was visibly cringing a bit at my expected eruption at what he had to say next. "I can get you a hotel room for tonight..."

My voice was rising in both volume and pitch. "I don't want a hotel room. I want a flight out of here." I saw his face close down and made a final effort to be persuasive. "Look, you don't understand. Our family flew to Rome for the holidays, but we accidentally left our eight-year old son behind. I have to get home so he won't be alone on Christmas day!"

He seemed to understand, but it didn't matter. "I'm sorry, but the best I can do is a hotel room..."

I lost it. "Young man, I have been awake for 23 hours. I've flown from Rome to London to... to... where the Hell am I?"

"Pittsburgh."

"Pittsburgh? Okay then, to Pittsburgh. I have to get home to my son, and I am not leaving this airport unless it is on a plane to St. Louis!!" I took a deep breath. "As God is my witness, I will do whatever I have to do in order to get home in time. Please, isn't there anything you can do?"

Someone tapped me on my shoulder, and I turned on the interloper sharply. "What?"

He was a fair looking man, I suppose, possibly a bit older than I, and dressed in a heavy coat with a scarf wrapped around his neck. With the weather outside, I didn't blame him. My own attire was not quite up to a snowstorm in Pennsylvania, but it would have to do. My husband and the other kids had opted for a later flight out of Rome, but there was no way they could arrive home in time, and I wasn't about to wait around. I would NOT fail my son in this.

I simply don't have the words to express how I'd felt when I'd realized that we'd left our son behind. We were halfway across the ocean, and I had no choice but to sit helplessly until the plane landed in Italy. I felt extremely guilty. I was a terrible person and a horrible mother, my son was all alone, abandoned, and it was my fault. I'd tortured myself with guilt ever since, and the only thing I could do now was to get home as soon as possible, both to save my son and redeem myself in my own eyes.

Damn it, he needed me; I was going to get there no matter what it took.

And now this man was pulling me away from the ticket clerk who might, if God himself smiled down on me, help me get home.

"What do you want?"

He smiled at me. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't help hearing your problem. Maybe I could help." He put his hand on my elbow and pulled me away from the desk. "Can we just talk over here for a minute?" Behind me, I heard the ticket clerk call out "next!" in an extremely relieved tone of voice.

I stumbled a few paces away with the stranger, then planted my feet and yanked my elbow away.

He smiled again. "My name is Tom, Tom Kincaid." He said it like I should have heard of him. I shook my head, mutely. "Kincaid polka band?" What? "We're big in the Midwest, and were just out east to do a recording. We're real big in Oklahoma and..."

I couldn't hold it in. "I'm sorry, did you say you could help me?"

He shook his head ruefully. "I'm sorry, here I am, rambling on." He pointed over to the vehicle rental desks. "You see that guy over there, in the blue muffler? Well, our flight was cancelled, so he's renting us a van so we can drive to Kansas City." He hesitated. "I hear you have some trouble with your son?"

I nodded. "Yes, my son. He's... home all by himself." I didn't want to open up too much to this stranger. "I don't want him to be alone on Christmas, and I'll do anything I have to in order to get home tonight."

He was sympathetic. "Geeze, that's terrible." He motioned back to the vehicle desk. "We're getting a van, and we'd be happy to take you to St. Louis... it's on our way."

Relief flooded through me, and I smiled. My husband tells me that my smile can brighten a room, and I saw this stranger respond slightly as my face lit up. "You'd do that? You'd let me come with you?"

"Well, yeah, sure. I mean, it's Christmas and all." He glanced away, then looked back at me and smiled nervously. "It should only take nine or ten hours, once we get started, so you should be home sometime early-morning."

"Oh, thank you, thank you!" I hugged him impulsively, letting my relief show as I squeezed him tight. Then I let him go. "Just let me get my luggage. Hang on!" I hurried away, and when I returned with my two cases a few minutes later, I saw him standing around with three other men, apparently arguing softly about something. They were surrounded by large cases, presumably for their musical instruments; Polka band, I think he said. Who listens to polka music anymore? Does anyone?

As I arrived they fell silent, and Tom introduced his friends. Mike was tall and skinny, older than me by a decade or so. Since I was in my early 40's, this put him in his 50's. Joe was fat and about my age, but he had a pleasantly round face. The final man was named Jacob, one of those middle-aged men with a rugged face and graying temples.

"My name is Jennifer."

Once the introductions were complete, Mike, Joe, and Jacob grabbed their gear and headed towards the front exit. When I moved to follow, Tom held me back. "Ummm, just a minute." I stopped, and he looked around nervously. "Did you mean what you said earlier, that you'd do anything to get home?" He peered searchingly at my face. "Did you mean it?"

I was puzzled. "Of course." Then realization dawned. "Oh, I'm sorry. Of course, I can pay for the ride." I probably had enough money in my wallet to handle that, and even if I didn't, that's what credit cards are for.

He shrugged, looking nervous. "That's kinda what we had in mind." He glanced around again, but we were alone in a sea of humanity, and nobody was paying us any attention. "Uhhh, but we weren't thinking of money."

Not money? Huh. "What, then?"

"Well, you see, me and the boys have been going non-stop on tour, then we headed straight to New York for the recording session, and none of us have been home for a couple of months." I looked at him blankly. "None of us have been near our families for too long." I still didn't understand. "Uh, our wives. Well, ex-wife for me." He shrugged again. "No women. We're getting a little... edgy."

What the devil was he talking... and then it hit me. Surely he wasn't suggesting... "Do you mean you want me to..." I couldn't finish the sentence.

He shrugged. "Well, yeah, if you wouldn't mind." He saw my shocked reaction. "I mean, you really need a ride home, and we really need... well, someone like you." He smiled a little. "You're real pretty, and you seem very nice; when you're not terrorizing ticket clerks, that is." His attempt at humor fell flat. "Anyway, if you were serious about doing anything you have to do in order to get home, then maybe we can work this out so everybody is happy."

I stood there, stunned, with my jaw flapping open and closed as I tried to figure out what to say. It took me a minute, but I finally came out with a strangled, "You're kidding!"

He shook his head slowly, watching my reaction closely.

"No," I spluttered, "absolutely not." I know what I said next is a cliché, but it just sort of slipped out. "I'm married!" That didn't seem sufficient, so I added, "Happily!"

"Oh, okay," he said, bending down to pick up his suitcase and instrument case. "I just thought we could help each other out. I guess you didn't mean what you said, before, then." He started to turn away, then looked back one last time. "I guess there are limits to love." And he walked away.

Damn him!

I stood there, furiously trying to think of anything else I could do. What he was suggesting, having sex with four men in exchange for a timely ride home, it was impossible, absolutely impossible! I just couldn't have sex with these strangers in the back of a rented van...

Rented van?

Rented van!

If they rented a van, then I could rent a car of my own! I turned quickly, only to find that the desk was empty. A sign had been placed on it, proudly announcing that all available vehicles had been rented.

Oh, shit. There were no cars to rent, which meant...

I couldn't. I mean, really... I just couldn't. And yet, I had to get home, and this was the only way I'd found so far.

People always say they'd "do anything" for those they love, and I'd certainly been saying that tonight. But did we really mean "anything"? I mean... really, there are limits. Right? My husband certainly wouldn't want me to do this.

And yet.

Damn. Damn, damn, damn, and double damn!

Yes, I loved my son enough to do whatever I had to do. Of course I did. What we'd done to him, what I'D done to him by leaving him behind was unforgivable. I absolutely HAD to get home, and I needed to be there before he woke up on Christmas morning. So when it came down to it, did I have the resolve to do this? For him?

I watched Tom's retreating back and made my decision.

"Tom!" I called out. He stopped and turned, looking back at me with one eyebrow raised questioningly. I sighed heavily. "Wait for me." I bent to pick up my bags, and when I straightened, he was watching me with a big smile on his face. I trudged his way, squaring my shoulders in resolve. In retrospect, that probably wasn't the brightest thing to do, as it kind of emphasized my breasts through the sweater. My coat was hanging open because I was inside, and, well, I wasn't Dolly Parton, but my husband seemed to like my breasts just fine.

When I reached Tom, he hesitated for a moment. "You're sure?" I nodded. "I mean, we don't want to force you or anything, so you're really sure?" I swallowed nervously, then nodded again.

"Yes," I said faintly, "I'm sure." I swallowed again. "I have to get home, and if this is the only way..." I gulped, "then this is the only way."

He studied my face for a moment, looking for something... I'm still not sure what. But apparently he found it, for he smiled again and beckoned me to follow him. I stood there for a moment, standing on the threshold between my normal life and a situation I still couldn't quite believe was about to happen, before striding forward, following Tom out of the airport and away from normality.

Outside, snow was beginning to fall, and I stopped long enough to hastily tie my coat closed. Then I grabbed my bags and trudged through the cold night. The wind whipped under the hem of my coat and blew right up my skirt... men don't understand how cold such a wind can get when it whips around your crotch, and it started me shivering. As I hurried after Tom and the rest, the sound of my heels tap-tapping on the concrete followed me into the dark parking lot like an accusation.

The "van" they managed to get was actually one of those enclosed moving trucks people can rent to move their furniture. This one was large enough for all of our luggage, three of the men... and me. As I tried to climb into the back, Tom and Joe reached out to help me up, one holding onto each arm. Mike was the third man in the truck... Jacob was evidently up front driving.

The inside had been prepared to be as comfortable as possible, with the luggage and instrument cases positioned to serve as benches and draped with blankets for cushioning. Two work lights were strapped to the sides and provided light for everyone to see by. It was all quite cozy looking, and we had plenty of room. Moving further inwards, I set down my luggage and sat down nervously on one of the blanket-covered cases. A few minutes later, the back door was closed, I heard the sound of the truck starting, and then we lurched into motion.

It was a surreal situation. There I was, sitting alone in the back of a van with three men I hardly knew, all of whom were looking at me with sex on their minds. I gulped and looked down at my hands, which were crossed and sitting in my lap. I was afraid to lift them, because I was certain they'd be trembling.

Damn, girl, what now?

After a few minutes, the men started talking softly, discussing the weather, tour dates, and other such minutia of the traveling musician. I sat alone, engrossed in my own thoughts, my stomach churning and my knees trembling nervously. I looked up when someone turned on a cd player and soft music pervaded the van. It was a nice touch, and I smiled slightly. Very slightly.

Mike produced a bottle of something, removed the cap, and drank several healthy swallows. He passed it to Joe, who did likewise. When Tom finished his own drink and handed it to me, I had a sudden recollection of clandestine gatherings in high school, with teenage boys passing around whatever cheap rotgut they could obtain in an effort to improve their scoring chances. I chuckled slightly at the thought, then lifted the bottle to my lips and took a long swallow.

But I wasn't a high school student, and this wasn't cheap rotgut. I raised my eyebrows appreciatively, looked at the label on the bottle, then took another slug of the good Irish whiskey. I held on to the bottle nervously, and nobody complained. But then, the point of the bottle probably wasn't to make THEM more willing. I chuckled again, took another two swallows, and passed the bottle back to Mike.

All three were watching me while trying to pretend they weren't.

Nine hours, I thought. Nine long hours. The alcohol burned in my belly, and I could feel it sending out fingers of warmth through my body. Good old alcohol. It didn't feel so cold in the van anymore, so I slowly removed my coat. After a moment of thought, I unbuttoned my sweater and removed it, as well.

The men all watched me avidly, of course, eyes following the clothing items as I removed them. When done, I was sitting in my blouse and long skirt, my legs crossed at the ankles and my hands once again in my lap. When the bottle came back around I took three long pulls and sent it along on its continuing voyage.

At this point, Tom apparently decided to get things moving; he stood up to make his way over to me. He'd left his winter coat behind, and was wearing only a dress shirt and slacks. I sighed inwardly, then edged to the side to give him room to sit. Which he did. I stifled another chuckle as I realized he looked like a teenager trying to work up the guts to put his arm around his date. A small smile played on my lips.

He turned and looked at me, gazing into my eyes, then leaned in for a kiss.

My mind froze and my stomach lurched as his lips touched mine. It was a gentle kiss, not demanding, no tongue or anything like that, but I have to admit I was stiff and unresponsive. I was married, after all! I couldn't believe I was being kissed by another man. This couldn't happen to me!

Except it WAS happening, and I NEEDED it to happen so I could get home. My son, it was all about getting home to my son. Forget my husband, concentrate on that.

I did my best to relax, softening my lips and leaning in to him as we kissed. His tongue tapped on my lips, asking for entrance, but I ignored the first touch, essentially putting off the moment of decision for a while longer. That didn't last long though, as I felt his tongue again just a few moments later.

Ah, well. I'd agreed to sex, and this was only a French kiss, so there really wasn't any reason to delay. After a further moment to gather my courage, I parted my lips and let him in. He responded quickly, and as his tongue darted eagerly into my mouth I felt an almost electric tingle pass through me.

He was a good kisser, and I truly do enjoy being kissed. I became aware that he had an arm around me, and I had one hand on the back of his head while my other hand gently clutched his arm. He drew me up with him as he stood, and I plastered myself against his body. He was stroking my long, curly, red hair as he frenched my mouth. I cooperated as best I could because it felt good. I mean, because I had to if I wanted the ride home. I mean... oh, I didn't know what I meant, I just gave up and lost myself in the feeling.

Our tongues met, dancing and swirling around each other. I explored his mouth gently, and enjoyed it thoroughly as he explored my own. The world narrowed to just him, me, and the kiss that seemed to last forever.

I remember somebody saying once, I don't recall who, that they liked long, slow, wet kisses that last for a week. Yeah. Oh, yeah. That sounded good to me, and it felt even better.

When we finally broke the kiss, I leaned my head against his chest. I was short of breath and trembling. My face felt flushed, feverish, and I pressed my cheek into his shirt.

Holy shit, this was really going to happen.

He hugged me tight as I breathed him in, enjoying the musky, manly scent of him. I was suddenly nervous again, tremulous, unwilling to move. Frankly, I'm not sure I could have if I'd tried. I think I was a little afraid, not only of what was shortly to happen, but also of how strongly I was reacting to this stranger who was holding me so tightly.

After a moment he pulled back a little, tilted my face upwards with one finger, and kissed me again. His arm tightened around my waist, and I relaxed into his embrace as I enjoyed the taste of him. He was frenching me, one hand stroking my neck and the other straying down my back. Slowly, tentatively, caressing in spirals, going lower and lower.

When his hand reached my backside and cupped my butt cheek, I stiffened again, and I had to fight the sudden impulse to pull away. This wasn't my husband! I trembled in his grip as he kissed me, as his hand fondled my ass.

He sensed my reaction and his hand retreated to the small of my back, where he softly stroked me until I began to relax again.

Don't think of your husband, girl! You'll screw this up.

Interesting choice of words, there.

When his hand caressed my butt again, I pushed gently back against it. Encouraged, he began squeezing, sliding his hand around to feel everything I had back there. I molded my body against his, crossed my arms around his neck, and enthusiastically kissed him back.

His hand moved away from my butt, then back, then away, then back again. For a moment I didn't realize what was happening, until the hem of my long skirt brushed against the back of my thighs. Slick. I smiled into his mouth as I kissed him, then tightened my arms and held him as close as I could.

His hand moved twice more, and then my skirt was hiked up high enough so that his hand was on my panties. When he slid it under the waistband and cupped my bare butt with his palm, I felt a strong tingling of sexual desire spreading outwards through my body. His hand felt hot on my cool skin, and I enjoyed his touch.

He was starting to get excited, too, and he began grinding his rather sizeable erection against me. As he started trying to work his hand around front, I gently broke the kiss, loosened my arms, and stepped back. For an instant his arms tightened in protest, denying my withdrawal, but then he relaxed and let me step back.