Chapter 4
The next day Bill decided the safest thing for him to do was get out of his room as quickly as possible. He thought it would be better to skip breakfast at home to save the confrontation with his mother. However, just as he was about to slip out of the door, she saw him.
"You come back here," she commanded.
"What do you want?" he said.
"You know," she said quietly. "I want to talk to you about last night."
"I'm a free man," he insisted. "Can't you understand that?"
"Are you free?" she asked. "Are you actually free from what we had going for us?"
"I'm not knocking what we had," he assured her, "but what I am suggesting is this. Let's use a little common sense. We can't go on like this."
"Why not?" she asked.
"Because it's wrong, Mom," he explained, "dead wrong. You know it, I know it. . . Can't you ever admit the truth?"
"No," she said, "I can't."
He refused to pay any attention to what she was saying and walked out of the room. As she stood in the door, tears trickled down her cheeks.
She felt guilty, she felt sad, but she also was furious. He had spurned her love, she figured, and he had no right to be playing around with just anybody. This was what annoyed her the most. She instantly put herself in competition with the young women who could give him the satisfaction he sought so eagerly. Somehow she couldn't get away from the fact that he had to be disloyal. She- imagined him to be her lover, her steady lover. He couldn't picture himself as disloyal. He was trying desperately to forget what he had done with her and the more he begged, the harder he wanted to move away from her. He knew that if she knew about the girl that he had, she would want to put an end to it. Therefore he decided to be silent.
When he got to school that day, everything went smoothly. The classes swept by and then the day was over. Coming home, however, was the most difficult time for him. He didn't know what she had to say. He was sure that she would make some big issue about the fact that he'd been out so late the previous night. This was exactly the type of thing he wanted to avoid at all cost.
The first thing she did when he walked in the door was ask him, "When are you going to fuck me again?"
"That's a nice question for a mother to ask her son," he snapped.
"A very practical question, dear," she said, "I'm on fire to fuck you."
"Well go find somebody else," he told her bluntly. "I'm not interested anymore."
"That's a nice thing for you to say," she said. "Have you no regard for your mother?"
"I have so much regard for her I don't want to see her louse herself up, and I also don't want to see her louse my life up, because I will resist and I will triumph."
She looked at him and a slow smile formed on her face.
"You could never resist me," she smiled, "if I really turned on the sex power."
"You have an inflated opinion of yourself, Mom," he told her.
"That; dear, is what you think. Right now if I should ever let you see my breasts, I bet you would get excited."
"Don't waste your time," he told her.
That didn't stop her, however. She was determined to display her breasts, and in sliding out of the blouse she was wearing, she revealed her naked bosoms.
"You weren't even wearing a bra, were you, Mom?" he said.
"No darling," she smiled. "I wasn't. Don't they look delicious?"
"You always look good to me," he assured her. "It isn't that, it's just that I have got to stop having sex with you."
"When I massage them," she asked him, "do you get excited? Do you feel it in your cock?"
"Knock it off, Mom," he said. "You're not going to seduce me, just leave me alone."
"I could never leave you aloneV' she said. "I want you to press your lips against my pussy lips. I want one of those hot passionate pussy kisses."
"No Mom," he said as he felt himself sucked into a whirlpool of sex, and the whirlpool was so strong he didn't see how he could possibly withstand her appeal.
Her next enticing move attracted him even more. She was slipping out of her skirt, and when he caught sight of her crotchless panty, he almost creamed in his jeans.
"Oh Mom," he said, "you shouldn't wear panties like that."
"Why not, honey?" she said. "They are the most, aren't they?"
"Yes," he admitted, "and it looks like you've shaved your box."
"Yes dear," she said, running her fingers over her vagina.
As her fingers played with her mound, he could see it juicing. It was obvious to him that she was becoming intensely excited by hypnotizing him this way.
"You're a bitch," he said, "but a beautiful one."
"I'm a sex animal," she said, "and baby, I want you to get on me."
"Mom," he begged her, "leave me alone."
"How can I?" she demanded. "I love you so much, son. I must have you."
"You're terrible," she complained, "you don't want to give me any satisfaction at all."
"Yes I do, Mom," he said quietly, "but I just don't like the idea of doing it to my own mother."
Margaret paid no attention to her son's words. Her hands were on his penis, and she was playing with it vigorously.
"You- see, honey," she said, "you need more action. It's getting hard."
"Lay off it, Mom," he told her, trying to pull her hands off.
"No," she complained, "it belongs to me."
He could tell she had been drinking too.
"I see you're getting as bad as Dad," he told her. "You're stinking drunk."
"So what if I am?" she said. "He's been having all the fun."
"It's not fun to do that," he told her frankly, "it's pretty sick."
"Are you trying to tell me something?" she demanded angrily.
"Yes, I am, Mom," he told her frankly. "I'm trying to tell you to lay off."
She paid little attention to him, and began straddling him. Now she was guiding his cock into her mound. As she straddled him and pushed down the cock slid in.
"Oh it went all the way in," she smiled. "It was meant to be."
She ground her hips around and then she begged him to join her in sexual activity.
"Why don't you play with my breasts?" she said. "Go ahead."
His hands reached up and began playing with them. She was getting more excited every second now.
"Oh yes," she said, "pinch the nipples, darling."
He pinched the nipples and watched them grow red. Realizing that he could cause her some physical pain, he felt happy, for it seemed as if it was a little justice. He was sick and tired of her not paying any attention to what he kept telling her.
"Fuck me," she Pegged, "fuck me. That's it, fuck, fuck baby, fuck."
He thrust forward and she ground her hips around eagerly.
"Yes baby," she panted, "that's what I want. Drive it in there."
The rock hard cock slid in there and with every thrusting movement, she became more intensely excited. Her body was vibrating with passionate pleasure.
"Give it to me," she demanded, "give me that cock, fuck me, fuck me, baby, fuck me."
The rock hard cock slammed in there now vigorously. Every second he was becoming more excited and so was she.
"Yes," she begged, "that's what I want. Give it to me."
It wasn't going to take much more at this clip and he knew it.
"Hang in there, Mom," he told her, "you're going to get fucked, fucked like you've never been fucked before."
Soon he was wrestling with her and before she knew what was happening they were rolling over together.
"You like to fight when you fuck," she said enthusiastically. "Well I do too."
She whipped around and he was on top, and then her hands gripped his asscheeks and massaged while he slammed away.
"Come on baby," she begged, "give it to me, every inch of it, I want it all."
The rock hard cock slammed in there faster and faster now. She was really steamed up and excited.
"Come on baby," she begged, "fuck baby, fuck, fuck."
The pleasure was building every second. He could hardly stand it as she continued.
"Oh yes, baby," he said, "that's the way to do it. All the way, fuck me, fuck me, all the way, honey."
It seemed as if the pleasure would never stop. She was enjoying it and so was he. She bent over now and ground her hips around vigorously. She brushed her breasts over his chest.
"Oh it feels good," he told her, "you sure got this fucking down to perfection."
"It isn't an act, son," she smiled excitedly. "It's love. Your Mamma loves you."
He went on ramming away until he thought his cock would shoot. He pulled off so he could make it last.
"You almost made it that time, baby," she told him excitedly.
"I sure did," he admitted, "but I didn't want to. I wanted to hang in there."
She smiled as she looked at him. She was proud of how enthusiastic he could become over her body.
"Your father was a tiger too," she said, "before all that booze got to him. He really used to give me a good balling, just like you're doing now. Come on, honey, fuck, get those rocks off."
With hard, driving stabs he continued stabbing her mound. Suddenly she squeezed and he climaxed.
"I'm cumming," he groaned in delight, "I'm cum-ing, Mom."
He knew he wanted to hold back so he could enjoy more moments of pleasure, but she was making that impossible.
"Oh wow!" he panted, as he felt his penis juicing inside of her.
"Did you enjoy it sweetheart?" she smiled at him.
"I sure did."
"I did too," she told him frankly.
She was thrilled that he had given her such a good balling. However, she was fearful of many things. Above all, she was fearful of the competition she knew she would have to meet as she got older and he came into his sexual prime.
"Oh honey," she said, "don't stop drilling. Mamma's almost there."
He kept drilling away and finally she juiced.
"I'm cumming, honey," she told him, "Mamma made it."
He grabbed her now as she grabbed him, and the two of them pushed hard against each other in the final throes of their wild fucking session. As his cock slid in her well lubricated pussy, he complimented her.
"You're probably one of the best fucks in the world," he said.
"You flatter me, darling," she told him.
"It's the truth, Mom," he insisted. "You really are super."
The pleasure that she felt from giving her son the sexual satisfaction he craved, was great. When he pulled out of her, she lay there and looked at him starry eyed.
"You make me feel so young," she said. "I feel like a teenager again."
"Well you don't look very old," he told her, "and you sure know how to give a good fuck. Dad's missing out on a good thing."
"Sure he is," she said. "He goes chasing after those cheap little tricks he picks up at the bar when he has me at home. It's ridiculous."
Finally he was about to get rid of her when she suggested something.
"There's no reason in the world, honey," she said, "why we can't pack our bags and leave your father."
"What do you mean, Mom?" he asked.
"I mean I've had it up to here, honey," she said. "I don't know how you feel, but I think that we have put up with all we should have. He's stinking drunk most of the time, and what good is he?"
"That's a very good question," he admitted, "and I admit I don't have the answer. But I don't think we should desert a sinking ship, do you?"
"I certainly do," she said, "your father isn't worth anything. As far as his loyalty, as far as actually fulfilling his duty as a father and lover."
"Well," he said, "I hate to be too hard on the old man."
"But what has he done to me?" she demanded. "Don't I count?"
"Sure you count, Mom," he told her. "But remember, nobody's perfect."
"It isn't a matter of perfection," she said quietly, "it's a matter of having to go through this."
As he thought about getting away, he wondered what she had in mind.
"Where did you plan to go, Mom?" he asked her.
"Well, I hadn't quite made up my mind," she admitted, "but I thought of New Orleans. I love that city. I have a girlfriend who lives in the French Quarter."
"The French Quarter?" he asked, "I haven't been there."
"No dear," she said. "You haven't. But it's a marvelous place and people are so much freer there."
"What's it like?" he demanded.
"Well it's wonderful," she explained. "They have streets, colorful streets. Everyone can get what he wants there. Of course it would be a terrible place to take your father because he's hooked on alcohol and there are plenty of places that he could drink. There's all that social drinking and it's a way of life."
"O.K.," he smiled, "I'd like to change our lifestyle."
"Actually, it would take a little money to go there. But I've been thinking of ways to raise the money."
"I don't know where we could get that much," he said.
"Well sometimes if it's worth enough for us to get away from your father so we can be alone maybe you could dip in your college saving fund."
"Oh I couldn't do that, Mom," he said in surprise.
"I don't know why on earth you couldn't," she said. "I think it would be a great thing."
"Oh no," he insisted, "I could never do that."
Even though she continued complaining, he refused to listen to her.
"There are other ways I could make some money," she said.
"What are you talking about?" he demanded.
"I'm talking about sex," she smiled.
"You mean you want to sell your body ?" he demanded.
"Oh I don't like to put it that way," Margaret insisted. "Let's just say I'd be performing a service. Why think of what would happen if all of the prostitutes weren't busy. There would be rapes everywhere."
"You're just making up an excuse," he said. "You want to be a whore."
"That is a nasty word," she said, "and I'll thank you not to use it around this house.
"Well" it's the truth Mom," he said, "if you sell your pussy, isn't that being a whore?"
"I don't like to use that word," she said, "I think party girl is much better. I have a girlfriend Melinda who did very well selling her sex. She never called herself a whore, because she felt it was like a sexual celebration when she got together with a customer."
"You sure live in illusion land," he told her, "I've never seen anybody who could rationalize everything the way that you do."
"Well it's the truth," she said, "a party girl gives pleasure and entertainment. That's what I'd be doing. I would be performing a needed service."
"Yes you would," he agreed. "But Mom, let's face it. If you started selling your pussy, Dad could get a divorce from you, saying you were no good. You were a tramp, and wrecking my life."
She laughed when he said that.
"Your father could say that and more if he knew we were making out. You don't know how narrow minded some people are."
"Look Mom," he said bluntly, "I can't take any more of this."
"Well you just think it over," she said, as she got off the bed and started for her room.
She blew him a kiss and said, "Pleasant dreams."
When she was out of the room he had plenty of time to think over what she had said, and the more he thought it over the more upset and turbulent his mind became. And the more he thought it over the more he wished he could forget what.she had told him and never remember it, but she had made all that impossible, for she was too vivid in her description of the life that they would have if they left home, and Bill's imagin- ation was at work. He could imagine what it would be like flying down to New Orleans. He could picture himself lying on a sunny sandy beach, and he could just imagine all of the excitement that lay in store for him if he went there. He thought of that creole cooking and the delicious food that would be served there. Then he began thinking about other chicks he might have sex with. For all he knew, Mom might be going there to have sex with men.
He calculated that the intelligent thing for him to do would be to play it cool. Of course he didn't want to dip into his college funds. He had looked forward to going to college for a long time, and he had no intention of dismissing that plan just like that. Nevertheless he figured he could also go to a college near New Orleans.. He thought he'd look it up the following day.
Finally he got to sleep. When his father came in that night, they had a real knockdown drag-out fight.
"You drunken old bastard," she yelled, "coming in at this hour. Smelling like a booze hound."
"Well I don't have much motivation to come home to you," he told her frankly, "all you want to do is gripe. You never were any good to me. You were a chain around my neck, dragging me down, down, down."
"That's a fine thing to say," she said. "You wouldn't have amounted to anything if it hadn't been for me. Who helped put you through college? Who was forever thinking of your best interests? I was, and you know it damned well. Gratitude. Huh. You sure don't have much of it for me."
"No I don't," he told her. "Because you are a chronic complainer. All you want is your way. You don't care about anything except spending my money. Why if I weren't taking care of you right now in high style, you wouldn't have a thing to do with me."
"That sounds like grounds for divorce," Margaret told him bluntly.
"I can't think of a nicer thing,-" he said, "than to be free from you. How about that? Do you want a divorce or don't you?"
"Well now that you mention it," she said, "it would be wonderful. That is, provided you can afford to pay the alimony."
"In a pig's eye I'd pay you any alimony," he said. "I'd carve you up before I'd ever give you a nickle."
"You see," she said, "I can't unload you until you make some sort of agreement. An agreement that would be fair to me,"
"What do you consider fair to you?" he said. "That would never be fair to me. You want to take me down the river and you know it."
"Why don't you move in with your mistress?" she asked bluntly, "What are you talking about?" he said.
"Just what I said," she insisted. "I'm sure that you have a mistress who would make a nice home for you. Perhaps she could keep you in liquor all the time. You would be so loaded that of course you couldn't satisfy her sexually or take care of her physical or emotional needs."
"Are you trying to say I'm impotent?" he demanded.
"I never said that," she said smoothly, "but I don't think that you've been giving me much satisfaction lately. If you have been very horny, honey, it hasn't been around me, has it?"
"Bitch!" he said.
"That's a fine way to talk to your loving wife," she said.
"Loving wife," he laughed. "That's a big one. Honey, you're about as loving as a cobra."
"I'm going to keep track of some of these things for the divorce trial," she said. "It would make awfully good copy for your boss to see."
"Are you threatening me?" he asked angrily.
"Why, no dear," she said, "whatever gave you that idea?"
A bemused smile played about her lips, as she tormented her huband.
"You know," he said, "you ought to be ashamed of yourself. You've treated me like a stepchild ever since we've been married, and it makes me sick."
"Of course you are Mr. Angel," she said, "a combination of an angel and Mr. Clean."
"I don't say that I'm perfect," he admitted, "but I will say one thing, I've been a helluva lot better husband than you have wife."
"That is a lie," she said quickly.
"No it isn't," he said, "it is the truth and you know it."
As they talked together, one thing was abundantly clear. They had agreed to disagree.
"I'm not sleeping in the same bed with you," he said.
"That's good," she said. "You haven't showered very much since you've been drinking all the time."
"Good night," he said, as he marched out of the living room and spread out the sheets on the sofa.
He fell asleep quickly as he was stinking drunk. The next morning he was so drunk that he didn't awaken. When Bill came downstairs he caught a glimpse of his father sprawled out on the bed. He knew what had happened and he tiptoed about the room. As he got a load of his father, like this, the desire to leave him became more intense. Going to the kitchen where his motht was fixing him a good breakfast he said, "I guess Dad is laid out again."
"It's terrible," she said, "what you and. I have to put up with. It's no wonder that we were driven to each other, dear."
"Mom," he asked, "what should we do?"
"There's only one thing to do," she said, "divorce your father."
He nodded and agreed with her.
"Mom," he said quietly, "I guess you were right."
"Of course I am right," she said, "I have been through this much too long for your good and my good."
She had him where she wanted him now. Yet, his mind was balancing back and forth between the thought of being free or tied to his mother's pussy not apron strings.
"A penny for your thoughts, dear," she said, when he had finished a hearty breakfast.
"I was just thinking how different everything would be, if you and I were down there in the French Quarter. We'd get up in the morning and there wouldn't be any fights. Dad would be out of the picture and you and I probably could make a good life. Then, Mom, you wouldn't care if I did find myself a girl and went steady, would you?"
"Certainly not, dear," she said. "I love you immensely and I assure you I will always be unselfish for your best interest."
"I know you will, dear," he said.
And then she saw her husband step into the kitchen.
"Holding hands again," he observed. "Well, well, it's nice somebody around this place has affection for somebody. It appears I'm odd man out."
"I'm not talking to you," she said, "after last night I'm not talking."
Immediately Bill asked what happened.
"Well what happened?" he demanded to know.
"Oh your Mom read me the rict act," he said. "I'm so sick and tired of her complaining. I think her griping is what drives me to drink, "Well that's nice," she said evenly, iSso now your drinking is my fault. Oh how you love to shift the blame, you bastard."
"Don't you bastard me," he said, as he went over and slapped her.
Instantly Bill sprung to his feet. He grabbed his father and held his hands.
"Look Dad," he said, "don't you ever slap Mom again. Have you got it?"
"I can take care of you, son," he said, as he prepared to lunge for his son.
But before he could make his move, Bill gave him a sock in the jaw. He reeled across the kitchen, almost losing his balance.
"Well you are growing up," he chuckled. "Well, can't blame you for giving me a punch. I guess I deserved it, and I'm proud of you, boy, that was a real hard one."
Instantly Margaret left the room.
"Dad," he said, "I think Mom should divorce you."
"What?" he said evenly. "You. are against me?"
"I'm not against you, Dad," he said, "but I sure don't want Mom to suffer anymore."
"What do you mean suffer?" he stammered. "She causes me all the trouble. I come in after a little night out with the boys playing pool and she makes a big fuss."
"Pool my ass," he said. "You were out drinking. You come home stinking and I bet you've got a woman that you're playing around with."
"Frankly, son," he admitted, "when I get that loaded I couldn't fuck a movie star."
"I told her what I think."
"Well, son," he said sadly, "I hate to hear you talk like this to your dear old Dad. I've tried to be a good father to you."
"Have you, Dad ?" he demanded.
"Sure I have," he said, "you know very well that I have."
"I don't know any such thing," he said. "You never would go any place with me. When I wanted to go to baseball or football games you could never go. Well, it burns me to a crisp."
"Hold on, son," he said, "you don't want to be rash. I always say a compromise is the thing that makes a politician."
"Well there's no compromise here," he said, "and as far as being a politician, I don't want to be one of those creeps.
"Listen to me, son," he begged, "I don't think we should split up our happy home."
"That's a farce," he said, "our home is hardly happy. With you and Mom fighting all the time, how could it be?"
"Now if I did get a divorce," he said, "of course you being a man you'd want to come with your Dad, wouldn't you?"
That gave Bill the power, the power that he had always wanted to put his father in his place. He remained silent for a long moment, teasing him.
"Speak up, son," his father insisted. "Tell me, you'd want to live with your Dad, wouldn't you ?"
"No Dad," he said, "I wouldn't. I don't care to go through what Mom has been through."
He shook his head.
"There are a lot of things between your Mom and me," he said, "that I've never revealed to you. I couldn't."
"Like what?" he asked.
"I can't tell you," he said.
"Please," he asked, "I want to know. If there is something I don't know that I should that would let me change my mind, let me know."
"No," he insisted, "I can't. It's too personal, too intimate."
"Please," he insisted, "I must know."
Just then Margaret stepped into the room.
"You weren't talking about me, by any chance, were you?" she said with a smug smile.
"You were listening all along,, weren't you?" he asked sarcastically. "And you know just the time to make your dramatic enterance, don't you?"
"I sure do," she said, "and I want to know what you've been talking about."
"None of your business," he said, "but if you are working against me and my son, then I'm going to put up a fight, believe me."
"I don't think you're going to put up much of a fight," she said, "because in court your only son with testify against you. Your own son will tell the court, tell the world, how you are nothing but a lousy, good for nothing drunk."
She glared at him and he withered under her hard look.
"You are a bitch," he said under his breath, "I always knew it, but I didn't know just how much of a bitch."
"You see how he talks?" Margaret and evenly, "He never can quit using those words. Because, it's in him. It's been in him all along. All of his hostility that he felt towards me is surfacing now. I don't know what to do about it."
"I can tell you what to do about it," he said evenly, "you can shove it."
"Is that a nice thing to say?" she began crying.
"Now don't put on that ridiculous crying act of yours," he said, "because it won't work. If anything, it will make me laugh."
"You heard him," Margaret exclaimed, "you heard him say he'd laugh when I cried. He's a sadist, he's a sadist."
"What's that?" Bill asked, completely puzzled.
"Oh dear, they don't teach you anything at school nowadays," she said. "A sadist, dear, is someone who delights in another's suffering, and that's what your father does, he delights when I'm tormented. He's a terrible man."
"Lay off her, Dad," he said.
When his father saw how serious he was, he moved away.
"Well it seems I'm not wanted here," he said, "that being the case, I'll move out. I've never stayed where I wasn't wanted."
"And good riddance," Margaret added crisply.
Without saying another word, he started to move out of the kitchen. He went into the bedroom and began packing. This really upset Bill. While he was disgusted with his father, he didn't hate him. He was forgiving and loving about it, and wanted desperately to tell him the truth. Tell him some of the rage that motivated his mother to act the way she did, was generated by the fact that she was having sex with him.
"Oh'Mom," he exclaimed, "you're not going to let him go, are you ?"
"I certainly am, dear," she said. "I don't want a thing to do with him."
"How can you be so cold and heartless?" he demanded.
"I'm not being cold and heartless," she said. "I'm doing what's best for you and me. I know, so let him go."
"Well Mom," he told her, "you can't be so cruel."
"I have to be cruel to be kind," she insisted.