He had broken it trying to do a trick on a skateboard that he couldn't do, to impress a bunch of guys that he barely even tolerated, and now his wrist was broken. Mother was talking about something as she drove us home from the hospital, but it was hard to pay attention.
He was thinking about how difficult everything was going to be for me with this bum wrist with my hand half covered in a cast. He was marginal at best at using my left hand for anything, and couldn't imagine how hard school was going to be when I would have to write all my essays with my right hand. The thought of turning in an essay about the Franco-Prussian War written in the 3-year old scratch that his left hand was capable of producing brought an audible laugh to his lips.
And all for what? So you could show off to a bunch of high-school blockheads? You're smarter than all of that! Damn his stupid mouth for laughing She continued to drone on about safety and how he knew better than to do something as stupid as that. They had always had a great relationship where they could talk about anything, discussing when they had problems or he did something wrong, but this time was much different.
She was very upset, and wouldn't even allow him to try to explain himself. His broken wrist seemed to worry her incredibly. They pulled up to the house, a mass produced suburban home manufactured by the lowest bidder.
While it may have had 2 stories, it was just as uninspired as the rest of the homes on his street. He never understood why they lived here. His father made more than enough to live somewhere nicer.
He had always imagined that a home should be like a piece of art, whereas this building was merely a collaboration of plaster and shingles that would keep the rain out. It may look nice, but it had no heart.
She pulled up to the driveway and parked the car. He unbuckled his seatbelt using his left hand, the first of many limitations he would have while he wore this cast. The last thing he could remember was opening the car door and taking a step out the same as he had thousands of times before. Except this wasn't any of those times, the second his body was out of the vehicle, he fell sideways and hit the concrete driveway hard with his shoulder.
He could barely feel it, the pain killers they gave him were very good, obviously too good, as he couldn't keep his balance long enough to keep from falling down.
His mother screamed and ran to his side, turning him over to inspect the damage. Luckily, aside from a torn shirt and a scratch on his shoulder, he was just fine. She helped him up as best as she could. She was not as tall as he was, and nowhere near strong enough to lift his full weight, so the best she could do was put herself under his arm and help him take one step at a time, trying to put his weight on her.
I can't bear to see you hurt Her voice was odd, but his pain killer induced haze was confusing him as to why she sounded so odd. He looked over at her and saw her eyes watering as she tried to hold tears back. It confused him even more, but before he could use his limited thinking capacity on it, they had made it to his room. She helped him lay down on his bed as his shock and drug induced exhaustion got the better of him and he fell into blissful sleep.
She sighed and proceeded to remove his shoes, to keep his bed from getting dirty, and bundled him in a blanket to keep him warm while he slept The fears he had immediately after breaking it turned out to be a bit less founded than he originally feared. He had just enough finger movement to be able to write. While it was barely legible, it was still preferable to using his left hand.
He found that he could still do most things, if not a bit awkwardly, except one. The day after the he broke his wrist, he had tried to have some "personal time" with himself before bed, but found it nearly impossible to do.
His limited finger movement and the abrasiveness of the plaster cast made it impossible to grasp his own cock. He has tried to use his left hand, but he couldn't get a proper grip on it and he was so awkward with it that the rhythm was just all wrong. Now, after 2 weeks of no release, everything had him on edge.
He was walking around with an almost constant erection, he was irritable and prone to lashing out at people, and everything seemed to make him horny. His attention in class lately had been terrible. He found he could do very little other than stare at the girls in class and daydream of all the things he wanted them to do to him.
The time he would have spent studying was spent doing immature things to try and impress the girls, hoping one of them was just morally loose enough to let him in her pants.
Yesterday, while his mother was doing laundry, she was walking around the house in her "laundry day clothes", a pair of bicycle shorts and a shirt that was one size too small.
He had never thought of his mother as an object of sexual desire, but watching her breasts bounce as her nipples poked through the shirt was nearly more than he could take. She was still attractive for her age, she was average height, he didn't know exactly how tall, but she was a bit shorter than he was.
She had dark brown hair that came down to the top of her back. She was still very lean, her breasts had begun to sag a bit due to age, but still perky enough to be desirable. He had always fancied himself as an ass man, something that his mother lacked. She had what most men would call a nice ass, but it was nothing to look twice at.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts of his mother, then slammed his left hand on the desk in his room and swore. This was very quickly becoming more than he could handle. God, I wish I could get laid This usually meant that she was going to say what was on her mind, and they would talk about it. He had always had an extremely open relationship with his mother. They had really bonded in a way that he and his father never had.
Even when he was in trouble, it usually was a matter of them discussing what he did wrong and talking it out, but he was in no mood for any type of discussion today. Apparently, a number of your teachers have told him they are worried about your performance lately.
They say you aren't paying attention in class and that you're goofing around and interrupting lessons. The last thing in the world he cared about right now was school. She looked at him in shock, which quickly changed to anger.
This is your senior year of high school! You're already home free, all you have to do at this point is show up and with your grades you will get into a great college! If you start slacking off now and let your GPA fall, it could really damage that possibility! Well what if I don't give a damn about college!?
As you say, this is my senior year! I'll be out of high school soon and you won't have to worry about me anymore! He had never spoken to her this way before. They had always discussed everything and then laughed about it afterwards. His behavior was too drastic for her to fully comprehend. She needed a moment to collect her thoughts. She stood and left the room without saying another word, as he quickly stood and slammed the door, locking it from the inside and leaving her in the hallway.
He walked back to his desk and plopped down in his chair. He held his anger inside for mere moments before the utter guilt at the way he had just spoken to her began to build inside of him.
He sighed and put his head in his hand and sat, thinking of some way he could apologize to her. He decided his best course of action was to just wait a while and talk to her later. Several hours went by before he heard another knock at his door. He looked at the clock and assumed it was his father, coming to berate him for the way he spoke to his mother. He stood up and walked to the door, unlocking it and slowly opening it, waiting for the barrage of harsh words to come, but when he looked outside his room, he only saw his mother there.
She spoke in a soft voice, not looking at him. He looked at her and felt terrible. They had always had a strong bond, ever since he was a little boy, and after all these years he had verbally spit in her face because of his own sexual frustration.
He walked and sat down in his desk chair. It seemed the better choice as it would be easier to hide what was now becoming his never ending erection. She walked in and sat on his bed, facing him. Something is bothering you.
Even if it wasn't for your behavior at school that display earlier made that completely obvious. He could tell that she truly wanted an answer, to try and be able to help him somehow, but he knew there was no way she could help him with his problem.
He began to make another claim that it truly wasn't anything important and she interrupted him. Daniel, we've been able to discuss everything since you were a little boy. What is so bad now that you can't talk with me about it? She said it almost pleadingly, and her words cut deep.
It was true, they had discussed almost everything since he was a young boy. She had always been the one he had confided in and gone to for advice. He definitely wanted to tell her some lie, but he knew that the moment he tried, she would see right through him. I haven't been able to