As her orgasm subsided, Alice was overcome with a sense of embarrassment and shame such as she had never felt. She released her son's cock as if it were radioactive. His prick was still stiff as a bone and pointed straight up. She turned on the shower again, this time full blast. Without daring to look into her son's face, she closed the stall door.

"Rinse off good," she called to him, unable to keep her voice from sounding strained and thin. "Then put on warm clothes, and for God-sake, don't forget your raincoat." She tried to laugh nonchalantly, but it sounded glaringly artificial.

The boy said nothing. She could see his blurred shape through the glass stall as he turned this way and that, rinsing himself. A straight rod protruded from his groin like a barrel of a pistol, wagging as he moved.

"I'm late for my workout," she called, wishing he'd answer so she could hear the tone of his voice. "If I get done early enough, and if you and your brothers haven't eaten someplace, I'll cook something."

"You?" He sounded almost shocked.

"Yes, me. I can cook, you know. We didn't always have Hilda around to do the cooking and housework, you know."

"Oh yeah, sure," he said, although he didn't sound at all convinced.

"Well, we didn't," Alice said. "See you later. And stay dry. I don't want you dying of hypothermia on me."

"What?"

"Never mind, I've gotta run."

Alice fled the bathroom, relieved she'd gotten away so easily. Ricky didn't sound at all upset by what had happened. He sounded as if he'd forgotten all about it already.