Chapter 17
Charles heaved a sigh of disgust as he finally turned off the freeway.
It was just a few minutes before midnight, and after he had finished his business in San Diego considerably earlier than originally anticipated, he thought that he stood a good chance of making it home in time to see his son play in the championship game. But he ran into a series of bad breaks. A huge truck overturned on the freeway a few miles outside of San Diego, slowing him up for a long spell. Then there were a series of accidents that slowed him up even more, causing a nightmarishly long ride home that was ending at the stroke of a new day.
As he pulled into the driveway, he was happy to observe the sight of his son's Firebird, along with one light that was shining from the living room. Charles hoped that at least he could find out immediately how the game had gone without waking anyone up.
Inside the house Harold and Pam were putting the finishing touches on the post-game celebration. Pam had poured champagne for both of them, and now she was passionately kissing Harold as he lay stretched out on the living room sofa.
At first Harold had resented Lou gaining the limelight with his game-winning shot, the same Lou Bennett who had scored only eight points for the game as against his game high of twenty-two. And it had burned him up when Lou had been kissed and whisked off by Daisy after the game ended.
But now that his beautiful mother was getting set to make love to him, he was happy to be in her arms. She was even more attractive than Daisy, along with possessing a worldly maturity that the young girl did not have.
"Oh, I want to go down on you," she whispered, reaching down and unzipping his trousers.
"Oh, honey, go right ahead," he panted.
"I want to reward you for being on the winning team."
"I'll always be on the winning team as long as I've got you."
"How wonderful of you to say," Pam smiled.
Now she leaned over and unzipped his trousers, pulling out Harold's hard penis.
Just as she was beginning to massage it eagerly with her fingers, and was simultaneously delivering a smoldering kiss to his lips, Charles walked inside the room.
At first his eyes squinted in the dim lighting. He was stunned, observing his wife, but wondering who the man was to whom she was making love.
He walked up closer, his heart pounding.
"I'll teach you to pull this behind my back," Charles bellowed angrily, pushing Pam aside as he moved quickly toward his male victim.
Charles reached out and pulled at Harold's shirt. It was not until Harold gasped and fell sprawling to the floor with a loud thud that Charles realized that it was his own son who was getting ready to have oral sex with Pam.
"My God, it's you, Harold. My own son two-timing me," Charles staggered back several steps. "You're rotten to the core, both of you are."
"It's all my fault," Pam sobbed.
"No, it's mine," Harold said.
"Something tells me it's about half and half," Charles said.
A still incensed Charles reached down and grabbed Harold by the lapels of his shirt, pulling him up to his feet.
"Please don't, Charles," Pam cried desperately.
While Charles held on to Harold with his left hand, he used his right to slap his face several times in rapid succession. Then he let his son drop to the floor once more as he released his hand. A thoroughly crushed Harold never raised a finger in his own self defense, lying there on the rug helplessly.
"I'm getting out of here," Charles exploded, heading quickly for the door. "I'm spending the night at a motel, then I'm gonna see my lawyer first thing in the morning. My God, being two-timed right in my own house by my wife and son."
"Please don't go," Pam cried.
But her efforts were to no avail. He slammed the door angrily behind him and got into his car, speeding off into the night.
Pam's fingers were trembling as she stared out the window.
"Oh no, it can't be," she sobbed. "It can't be. I'd never have dreamed he'd be back tonight. Are you hurt, my dear?"
"No, it only stung while he was slapping me," Harold shook his head sadly. "I guess we wrecked everything."
"No, I did," Pam said bitterly. "I was at fault.
Instead of giving you parental guidance I broke down and had sex with you. I acted like a crazed animal. There was no excuse, no excuse at all for what I did."
Harold watched her from his position on the floor as Pam walked slowly toward the bedroom. There was something suggestive of defeat in the slow, almost zombie-like gait with which she transported herself.