Mom

Her scent was all that lingered, trapped in his pillow case. He could still smell the sweet citrus her hair had hijacked from an unsuspecting shampoo bottle.

He rolled over, and on his way to his left side he found himself removed from the dream and left for dead in reality. Her soft curves were starting to fade. Visions of tangled legs were evaporating and focus was lost on her face.

Just the dirty idea of what had happened was left in his head. He wondered how good a dream it really was if he couldn't remember it. He felt an involuntary spasm in his nether region. On a scale of one to ten the dream was obviously rock solid. He adjusted his boxers to make room for the physical book mark left in his pajamas.

"Mark, time to get up!"

His mom was already starting this game. Meant he must be late getting ready for school. He pulled the pillow over his head, rolled over onto his belly. The nighttime kickstand was buckling under his own body weight.

He returned to his back, tent already set up and waiting for campers. Another 5 or 6 minutes and camp would pack up and head out on it's own.

"Mark! I'm not going to tell you again, get up!!"

"I'm coming!" Geez, how important could 1st period reading really be? Next year he'll have his license and in charge of his own schedule. Until then. . .

His door flew open and his mom's voice was terrifyingly close.

"I'm not kidding young man, get up!"

"I'm going, give me a minute!"

"No, right now!" She grabbed the blanket and pulled it down hard. There was no time to react. This was a scenario that he never saw coming. He went to reach for the blanket, but it was gone. All that stood was, well. . . him.

His mom went white. She turned and left the room.

Mark covered his face and felt the heat rising from his cheeks. Maybe he will transfer to 1st period psychology, save him some money on therapy.