Mom wins (PG)

"Do you give up?" Mom asked.

"No way," I growled. Ok, so I was on my back, and my
forty-five-year-old mother was perched on my chest, he knees on my
biceps, and despite my squirming I couldn't dislodge her. But give
up? No way!

"You might as well give up, honey," said Mom, grinning down at me.
Her t-shirt was soaked from her workout earlier, and I could see the
outline of her large, matronly bra underneath. That didn't make me
feel any better about being stuck beneath her.

"Come on, Mom," I said, now panting underneath her weight. "You just
got lucky. If you hadn't tripped me and then bounced on my stomach,
there's no way you'd, uh, that you would have, uh..."

"No way that I would have beaten you?" grinned Mom. "Just admit it,
honey. Just because you're all grown up and have your own job now,
just because you're bigger than I am and you're a bigshot CPA doesn't
mean I'm not still the boss in our relationship."

"The boss!" I yelled. Furious, I bucked and squirmed but couldn't
dislodge my middle-aged mother. Her womanly hips were solidly pinning
me down. "You're not the boss of me!" I squealed as I kicked in futility.

Mom just laughed. "I'll make you admit it, then," she said. "If
pinning you doesn't prove anything, I'll just make you say it out loud."

With that Mom suddenly rose up and then dropped down viciously on my
stomach. I grunted as the air burst out of my lungs. Giggling like a
schoolgirl, Mom leisurely rolled me to my stomach, and I wasn't able
to resist. She grabbed my right wrist and twisted my arm behind my
back into a hammerlock. "Ow!" I screeched involuntarily as she jerked
my wrist high in between my shoulder blades.

"Say it," Mom demanded. "Say that I'm the boss!"

The pain in my elbow and should was intense, and tears began to well
up in my eyes. Nevertheless, I refused to submit.

"Have it your way, big boy," said Mom as she grabbed my hair with her
left hand and jerked my head back. I grunted in pain as it seemed
like she would snap my neck.

"Say it," she demanded.

I didn't reply; I was too busy trying not to cry to respond.

"You sure are a glutton for punishment," said Mom. "You're just
making it harder on yourself."

Helpless, I couldn't stop my mother as she twisted my other arm behind
my back and then sat on my crossed wrists. Now she was able to use
both hands to grab my chin and yank my head back. The only part of my
body that I could control was my legs, which I kicked in frustration
and futility. "Say it," Mom whispered in my ear.

"No," I managed to grunt.

"Well, at least I didn't raise a wimp," said Mom, "even if my son is
getting his ass kicked by his mother." She let my head fall to the
carpet and she rose off me. I lay on the floor, panting and moaning.
Mom planted her small foot on the back of my neck and pressed down.
"But it's just a matter of time until you give in," she said.

Eventually she lifted her foot off my neck. I slowly tried to get up.
When I was on my knees, Mom forced me into a kneeling position and
once again twisted both my arms behind my back. "Say it," she said,
yanking upward.

"No," I grunted, though I feared she'd break my arms.

Mom let go of my left arm but kept my right arm captive in the
hammerlock. Standing to my side, she used her fleshy thighs to hold
me upright and then began to dig the polished fingernails of her free
nand into my fatigued abs. She was both scratching me with her nails
and driving her surprisingly strong fingers into my muscles.
Meanwhile, she was still applying pressure on my arm with her other hand.

"Please, please, Mom, stop!" I screamed.

"Say it!" she demanded.

"I give up!" I whined. "You're the boss!" I whimpered. "Please let go!"

"Ok, honey," she giggled as she released me. I slipped to the floor
and fell to my side.

Here I was, a twenty-three year-old man, beaten and humiliated by my
own mother.