Chapter 4 – III

Amazingly, my cock had stayed hard throughout the entire ordeal. Actually, in a perverse way, it'd turned me on, thinking of grandpa catching me, his grandson, drilling his daughter. Wonder what the old man would have done… Probably would have been turned on. I bet he wanted to fuck her, too.

Shit, maybe he even did. Was he included in mom's number? I again wondered.

"Suge, when he's done in the bathroom, you gotta get out!"

"No can do." I replied, crawling out from under the bed.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not done."

I unwrapped the blanket from mom's body and gently pushed her back to the bed. Swiftly I mounted and penetrated her again. Maybe it was the fear or tension, I don't know, but her pussy felt even hotter and tighter than it had before, maybe even ever. I only lasted a few strokes before coming.

This time, though, she didn't come after I shot my load into her. Instead, she scolded me a bit and told me to get out. She seemed genuinely mad.

"Sorry." I said, stepping back into my pajama bottoms.

"It's alright. Let's just be normal mom and son for the rest of this visit, ok? This is too risky."

"Okay. One last kiss, maybe?

"One, and I'm serious, ONE, last kiss."

We French kissed for a few seconds, but it wasn't the usual explosive type. I could tell mom wasn't comfortable being with me here. And I guess that's understandable. It was her parents' house after all, and I was her son, and I did just have sex with her. I could understand mom's consternation. And so I backed off. And for the rest of the visit we kept our distance.

Things really were complicated with mom. She hadn't totally gotten over her guilt complex regarding our relationship. We lived as husband and wife, but there were times when things got weird. Especially for her.

Although we had sex regularly as clockwork, she was never able to make much eye contact with me during sex. After sex, too, sometimes she'd break down crying. I'd hold her, whisper comforting words into her ear. But I could tell it was hard for her to accept. Which probably shouldn't be surprising. How many women in their 40's live with their grown son and have a sexual relationship with him? Probably not many. There wasn't anyone she could talk to about it, and, like me, that was extremely difficult for her.

Like most women I'm sure she wanted to gossip about her boyfriend to her sister and gal pals, "Sex in the City" style, but she couldn't. It was almost as though she and I were totally alone. And I think that got to her, probably more so than me.

I did really love her, though, my mom. It wasn't all about sex with her. We'd sit for hours in bed, talking about everything and anything. Since we'd been together I'd gotten to know her not just as a sexual being but as a person. I'd gotten to know all her weird ticks. How she meticulously arranged items in the refrigerator. All her dietary habits. Her favorite movies, music, TV shows, and books. What type of toothpaste she used. How she styled her hair at different points in the day. Everything.

I highly admired the person she was. How she'd worked her way up from being a teenage mother to one of the most successful real estate people in the Coastal Bend. I loved everything about her, the way she talked, how she'd cock her head to the side when she laughed, how her hips swayed as she walked, the way she wore her makeup, her taste in clothes…

Speaking of her clothes, it seemed that being with me had brought out something in her. Something naughty. She still wore the same business attire at work, but at home and on weekends she started dressing way sluttier, which I loved.

She'd wear these low cut tops and super short jean skirts. Those black tights that are so in fashion, too, which turn me on like hell. She also wore lots of sheer nylon stockings which also drove me nuts. It was hard for me to keep my hands off her in public when she dressed like that. Especially when I'd notice other guys checking her out.

We both hated having to keep everything secret. We hated having to hide it, to act like we were criminals. So what if we chose to be lovers? Whose business was it? There were serious things going on in the world. There were wars, murders, and corrupt politicians doing far worse than anything we were doing.

We wanted to be out and proud lovers, able to stroll down the street or beach holding hands. And that's what we did when we'd take weekend trips down to South Padre Island or Mexico. We'd go around, arm and arm, holding hands, kissing in public. She looked so much younger than her age and was so damn hot that no one ever looked at us funny.

How we ever wished we could be like that all the time. Maybe doing so could also help mom with her guilt complex. I don't know. I had guilty feelings about it, too, sometimes, but I think the whole thing was harder for her. Maybe us being in a more open environment, being able to more freely express ourselves would help alleviate that. I think that was probably the biggest reason why I so eagerly anticipated going to Hong Kong. Maybe there we could really be free.