Fitness Model Moms 3

Author’s note: This one isn’t related to the others in the series. All are different stories involving different mothers who happened to be fitness models.



Fitness Model Moms 3

Introduction

Dean held his fiancée Deanna’s hand. She wasn’t responding. Lying in her hospital bed, shortly after being moved from the emergency room, Dean was saying goodbye to his first love.

Her parents were on the way; Dean was unable to reach his mother.

“Please don’t do this,” Dean was crying. He thought about their plans. Things would’ve been so perfect. College graduates, together since freshman year, getting married, and having a wonderful life. He sobbed harder thinking about how similar their names were; a detail so small and simple yet showed him they were made for one another.

He kissed her hand, her heart rate monitor beeping less and less each minute. Dean knew it wouldn’t be long before Deanna passed away. “No,” he cried.

“Yes!” Monica arched her back, several miles away, on top of her coworker, Ulysses. They recently completed another photo shoot for a fitness magazine.

She was cumming again. “Mmm, damn,” she said, Ulysses running his hands up and down her toned, washboard tummy.

“Whew, I need a break after that one,” Monica smiled, climbing off her friend, his cock slithering out of her pussy.

“Want some water?” she asked over her shoulder, leaving her bedroom.

“Sure, that’d be great,” Ulysses nodded to her. When she was gone, her cell phone buzzed on the bedside table.

“Deanna,” Dean cried back at the hospital, squeezing her hand. “I need you.”

Her heart rate monitor beeping less and less each minute, a nurse and doctor were checking her. “Sir,” the nurse whispered, her hand on Dean’s shoulder. He knew it was almost time.

The nurse scooted by him to check equipment. Dean cursed himself, thinking he should’ve rode his bike with her, maybe the truck would’ve hit him instead of her, or perhaps it could’ve been avoided all together.

He couldn’t believe this was happening. He ran his finger over the engagement ring he saved up for. It wasn’t the best out there, and was fairly cheap, but Deanna didn’t care. She happily wore it after excitedly throwing her arms around Dean, saying “yes” she’d marry him.

Monica climbed back on Ulysses, pushing a strawberry in his open mouth. “Good?”

She slid his cock back in her hungry pussy. “Yes, very good,” Ulysses replied, not referring to the strawberry.

Monica chuckled, “Maybe you’ll forget about that woman you told me about. For a little while at least.”

“Maybe,” Ulysses said. “But I’ll think of her again when I leave here. Thanks for trying to help though.”

“No problem,” Monica grabbed his face, leaning down to kiss him hard.

Back at the hospital, Deanna flatlined. Dean held her hand for several minutes, listening to the doctor pronounce her dead at 2:19 am. When they left, giving him more time with her, he stood, brushed her hair away from her face, and kissed her forehead. His lips were trembling, barely touching her skin.

“Goodbye,” he whispered, tears streaming down his face. He could barely stand, his legs weak. Five years of laughter, happiness flashed before him – all of it was gone now. Dean had seen a future with Deanna, a house, kids, maybe a dog. It would never happen now.

“Uhn! Yes!” Monica was bouncing up and down in Ulysses’ arms back in her bedroom. Her phone vibrated again.

Ulysses reclined back in the bed, “Hey, you may want to check that. It buzzed several times while you were in the kitchen.”

“Could be a wrong number. It’s really late,” Monica said, reaching for her phone.

“Maybe.”

A concerned look came over her face, answering the call, getting off Ulysses. “Dean?”

“Mom. It’s Deanna.”

“What? What do you mean? What’s wrong?”

“She’s gone.”

Monica almost dropped the phone, shaking uncontrollably as her son told her the events of that evening. She gathered up her pajamas, listening to Dean cry; cursing herself for not answering earlier.

“I’ll be right there,” Monica ended the call.

“Everything ok?” Ulysses asked, still naked in her bed.

“No. My son needs me. I have to go,” Monica grabbed her keys, removing the house key from the key ring. “Lock up and leave this under the doormat outside.”

“Um, ok, I’ll do that,” a confused Ulysses said.

“Sorry,” Monica said. “Maybe another time. See you later.”

When she left the naked fellow fitness model in her bed, the last thing on her mind was seeing Ulysses again. Dean was all that mattered. Monica rushed out of her house, got in her car, and sped off toward the hospital.


-1-

It was New Year’s Day, 40 days since Deanna died. Monica was in her kitchen chopping vegetables for dinner.

She dumped the vegetables into the large pot to boil them. She sat at the table, running her hands through her long, curly hair when her phone rang. It was a new friend, Gia.

“Hey,” she answered.

“Hi. Just wanted to let you know things are going great here in Hawaii. I really appreciate you recommending me for the shoot. You were right about the photographer they booked, he’s annoying!” Gia laughed.

Missing out on a visiting a beautiful tropical location for work didn’t faze Monica; there was no where she wanted to be but home. She couldn’t leave her son alone.

Gia was taking her place for the photo shoot. The modeling agency was able to arrange it – though wasn’t totally on board with Monica being replaced. Gia was taller, mid-30s, a few years younger than Monica and had dark hair. The photographer that was used complained about lighting and colors constantly. The agency knew Gia’s dark brown hair against Ulysses’ dark brown skin would cause him to whine and complain. Monica didn’t care – it wasn’t her problem, the agency would deal with the photographer. She had to deal with her son; she had to see him through this somehow.

“How’s your son?” Gia asked.

“Same. He won’t come out of his room. He barely eats,” Monica sighed looking at the unpacked boxes leftover from when she moved him back in with her, a month prior.

“I’m glad he’s there with you though,” Gia commented.

“Me too. I can’t think about what would’ve happened to him if I left him at his apartment.”

“Yes, what’s your son’s name by-the-way? I don’t think you’ve told me,” Gia asked. There was a knock at her hotel room door. “Shoot! I better go.”

“Alright. Thanks again for taking my spot,” Monica said. “Ulysses is a really nice guy.”

“It’s fine and I agree. We had a great first day shoot.”

“Alright, take care.”

“I will,” Gia ended the phone call. She turned around, naked, and opened her hotel room door. Ulysses was smiling. Gia pulled him hard into the room, pushing him on her bed and straddled him.

Monica stirred the vegetables then went to check on Dean. He was still in bed, sleeping, depressed.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her hand on his shoulder. “I’ll bring you some dinner soon.” She leaned over and kissed his forehead.

She rummaged through his boxes near the kitchen. The one on the top contained something that almost made her cry – Deanna’s engagement ring. It was placed back in its box from the jewelry store and hidden amongst miscellaneous items. Monica opened it, thumbing the ring. It was a simple diamond, nothing fancy, nothing too pricey. She wiped a tear and placed it back where Dean packed it.

A few hours later, Monica was getting ready for bed. Drying off after her shower, she put on pajama shorts and a tank top, brushed her hair, and left her bedroom for Dean’s.

The plate of food was empty, Dean lying on his other side, his back toward Monica.

She climbed in his bed, pulling the covers over them, and snuggled up to his back. Her hands slid under his t-shirt, her fingernails scratching at his skin. He felt so warm to the touch.

Monica sighed, another day down, another to start the next day.

“Goodnight. I love you,” she whispered in his ear, kissing the back of his neck. Monica pulled his shirt down, and flung her arm over his waist. This is where she slept since she moved him in with her.

Sleep eventually found her after planning for the next day, hoping she could get him out of his room, maybe get him walking around talking. Monica had to do something, Dean wasn’t getting better. She knew it would take time, but she was scared.

***

“Yes, I understand. I’ll let him know,” Monica informed an HR representative the next day on Dean’s cell phone. She took his phone, answering and handling any calls he received, since he showed no desire to talk to anyone. This call was to inform Dean that his twelve week leave of absence from work was halfway through.

Monica set his phone down and continued her workout in her make-shift gym in the garage. She no longer went to a gym, opting to be at home with Dean as much as possible.

The Florida heat lessened slightly in January. The humidity was still strong enough to get Monica nearly drenched with sweat – her matching red sports bra and shorts not helping cool her much.

She heard movement above her. Dean’s room was right above the garage. He was getting out of bed. Monica set the dumbbells down and dashed inside.

Pretending she was in a rush she barged into the bathroom, just as he was getting into the shower. “Mom,” he said annoyed, pulling the shower curtain shut.

“Sorry! I was in a hurry,” Monica told a half-truth. “Can I use the bathroom?”

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, he wouldn’t be able to see her pee anyway. Nor did he care. He didn’t care about much anymore. He was out of bed to shower, and then go right back.

Monica pretended to pee, thinking of how to keep him out of his room and interact with her.

“So, do you want to work out with me? Might be fun,” she said.

“Nah,” Dean said, rinsing his hair.

“Ooh, there’s a new Italian restaurant I’d like to try. Can I take you to dinner?”

“No thanks.”

“Alright,” Monica sighed. She left the bathroom and paced around in the garage.

“I can do this. I have to be firm, I’m his mother, but not pushy or uncompassionate,” Monica thought. “I’ll just tell him to join me tonight on the couch. Baby steps. We’ll watch a movie or just sit there. I could read or – ” she heard more movement above her. Dean was out of the shower and Monica rushed back upstairs.

“Hi!” she ran into him, her arms extending, wrapping around his bare torso. He gripped the towel wrapped around his waist, grimacing at the sensation of her wet, sweaty midriff against him.

“Mom, I just – ”

“Sorry,” Monica stepped back. She intended to wipe her sweat away from his lower abdomen, unfortunately, rubbing it in instead.

“It’s fine,” Dean said, pushing pass her.

“Dean. I’d like you to join me downstairs tonight.”

He shrugged and entered his room. “Please? We could sit and eat leftovers, maybe watch a movie,” Monica suggested. Nothing seemed to work.

She glanced into the living room, to a bookshelf, seeing a few magazines, and got an idea.

“I need your help,” she said, barging back into his room, causing Dean to quickly cover up with the towel.

“Sorry. I need your help tonight.”

“With what?” he asked.

“My, uh,” Monica said thinking to magazines where she was featured on the cover. “I’d like your opinion on my future potential photo shoots,” she was able to pull out of thin air.

“What? Why?”

“I just want your opinion. I get opinions from photographers and managers at the agency, but not opinions of real people.”

“But I’m your kid.”

“You’re still a real person.”

“I guess. Not sure why my opinion would count or matter.”

“Dean,” Monica approached him, placing her hand on his chest. “If anything your opinion is more important to me than all others.”

“Geez,” Monica looked down, realizing a truth. “Maybe I could have asked your thoughts on my photos long ago. Sorry.”

Dean sighed, “It’s fine. Yeah, I’ll look with you.”

“On the couch?”

“Yeah.”

Monica left his room, headed toward her shower, a smile on her face. She had to keep going, keep finding reasons to get him out of his room. She knew it was a long shot, but maybe he’d be happier, maybe he could return to some kind of normal interaction with her and people.


-2-

“What about this one?” Monica, sitting next to Dean on the couch, flipped through a magazine to another photo of her in a bikini.

“Yeah it’s fine.”

“What do you like about it?”

“Ugh. I guess, I don’t know,” Dean struggled to come up with something while looking at his mother in a bikini.

“It’s red.”

“Red? That’s it?”

Dean shrugged.

“Do you like the lighting? What about the posing? Do you think I should or could get away from doing beach stuff and focus more on photo shoots in gyms?”

Monica flipped to another magazine, hoping to keep her son out of his room, engaged and interacting with her. She turned to a photo of her lifting dumbbells and smiling. “Maybe more like that?”

“I guess.”

Thinking seriously for a moment, Monica wondered about her body. “Do you think my figure is ok for a bikini?”

She opened another magazine, she was kneeling in front of a hugely muscular man, looking over her shoulder.

“You look fine. Your, uh, body, is fine,” Dean said.

“Thanks,” Monica closed the magazine, setting them on the coffee table in front of her. Dean started to stand, but she pulled him back onto the couch.

“Spend more time with me, please?”

“Fine,” Dean said, sitting back against the couch.

Monica snuggled close, wrapping her arms around Dean. He lost weight since November, since Deanna died. He didn’t look unhealthy, but she could tell. She wanted to change that, she wanted him eating more, she wanted him to rebuild his life.

That night, she followed him to his room for bed. Instead of going right to sleep, she kept him awake as long as she could.

“Roll over,” Monica said. “Your tummy.”

“Why?”

“Please?” Monica wanted to ask if Deanna ever gave him a massage, but didn’t want to bring her up.

“Fine.”

“Have you ever been to a massage parlor or a spa?” she asked.

“Nope.”

Not prying more, Monica sat on his butt, “You’re in luck. I’m learned to give great massages. May I?” she asked, pulling his t-shirt up, not waiting for his answer.

Dean lifted up, letting his mother pull his shirt up all the way. “There we go. Perfect,” Monica said, running her fingernails over his skin.

“Now then, just relax,” Monica began. She went for nearly 20 minutes, deeply massaging his muscles, her hands gliding over his vertebrae, her thumbs working his neck, shoulder blades.

When she was done she leaned down, whispering in his ear, “I won’t charge you a dime for that.” She kissed the back of his neck, “Plus you got a kiss at the end.”

She sat back up, pulling his shirt down, “I guess some places give more than kisses, but they probably charge a lot of money.”

“I know mom. I think they’re called ‘happy endings,’” Dean said.

“How do you know about that?” his mother asked, getting off him, Dean rolling to his back.

“Huh?” she jabbed his side.

“I’ve just heard the term before.”

“I know, I’m joking. Did you like the massage?”

“Yes, thanks,” he said, rolling back over.

Monica smiled, getting in the covers, once again snuggling up to his back for the night.