Chapter 5

If Norma Dunham's first visit to her son's bedroom had surprised her son, this second bedtime visit had left him in a state of total confusion. Roger didn't know what to think! In fact, the next few days found him bumping into things, staring off into space absent-mindedly, even talking to himself. On several occasions, Phil Kendall, Ray Stevens and his other friends asked him just what was bothering him. Each time people inquired as to what was on his mind, he muttered, "nothing," and tried to behave as normally as he could. The truth was, though, he was very deeply distressed. His mother's daily behavior had nothing to do with his daydreaming-she carried on as though nothing unusual had happened, just as she had after their first sexual encounter. No, his strange behavior was rooted in the fact that he had never before experienced-nor ever expected to experience again-feelings so intense as he had felt during his mother's last visit.

He had always loved his mother. Naturally. Everybody loved his mother to one degree or another. But making love to her-actually fucking her-had created such feelings of love and desire for her that he could not imagine ever making love to anyone else! Sheila, Ginny, any girl he had fucked or ever hoped to fuck, could never rival the skill, the beautiful understanding of his every need and desire that his mother had demonstrated. She had carried him into an incredible world of sexual ecstasy and he could not imagine himself with another woman.

Not ever.

And this was no easy thing to accept.

After the first sexual incident with his mother, he had told himself that although having sex with her was unusual, to say the least, that he would adjust to the situation somehow. Deep within his brain, too, he just assumed that in time her visits would dwindle and eventually stop completely. Now, the thought of her abandoning him and never making love to him again was frightening. He loved her desperately and completely, and he wanted to sleep with her every night. The image of her smile, her delectable body, her voice, everything about her haunted him during his every waking minute. He could not take his mind off her. He wanted to write her poetry, tell her of his great love, beg her never to look upon another male again. But could he do this? How could he tell her of the depth of his feelings? How could he tell her he wanted her to stay home and never work again? How could he tell her that he wanted to quit school and spend his every waking hour with her? How could he tell her that he worshiped her, that he adored her, that he would gladly give his life for her? She was an angel!

One thing was certain. He could not go on this way. He could not await her visits to his room every other night or so. He would go insane if he didn't resolve the situation in some way. One afternoon he even considered running away to some foreign country-Europe, Mexico, anywhere. Actually, he was afraid that when he told her the way he felt about her that she would shun him, ridicule him, reject him. And he knew that he could not bear this. Did she know that she had addicted him, created a helpless, pitiful slave of her son? Despite her loving words in his ear, her promises of complete love and devotion to him, he suspected that she uttered them only because she thought him asleep. If he responded and told her he could not live without her beside him constantly he was sure she would call an end to the little game she had begun.

One Tuesday, sitting in the school cafeteria, Roger made the decision to tell his mother exactly how he felt. That night, he decided, he would wait in his room and see if she came to him in his bedroom. If she did, he would not pretend to be asleep as before. He would hug and kiss her and tell her he loved her. Then there would be no more game playing. They could openly sleep together, talk about the wonderful things their bodies enjoyed together and even make plans for the future. There was some risk involved, true, because such openness on his part might very well scare her off, but anything was better than continuing this way-wondering when and if his mother would visit his room. In fact, if his mother didn't come to his room that night, he intended to go to her room. What could he lose?

She had come to his room, rubbed his back and made love to her son when she thought he was asleep, hadn't she? Then why couldn't he do the same. Yes, tonight he would go to her room, slip into bed beside her and they would both freely admit everything.

Having made this decision, Roger felt better already. The students sitting at the tables in the cafeteria, the hum of their conversation, everything seemed in place and suddenly with a purpose. He swallowed the last of his tuna sandwich, washed it down with a big gulp of milk and stood up. Phil Kendall and Ray Stevens sat on the far side of the room talking to Ginny Talbot and Lori and Sheila. He decided not to join them. He didn't want to make conversation with anybody. He just wanted to remain by himself and dwell on his mother and the decision he had made about her. His feelings now were too good to share with anybody-no, they were impossible to share with anybody-and he just wanted to think about his mother and anticipate tonight. After tonight all these feelings he had kept bottled up inside of him would be out and he could begin functioning as a normal human being again instead of slinking around with a frown on his face and avoiding people all the time as he had been doing.

The rest of the day passed peacefully. Roger didn't listen very attentively in classes and he didn't take his usual notes; but that didn't matter. The main thing was that he had made up his mind to do something instead of just moping and remaining in a state of hamletian indecision.

When the final bell of the day sounded he gathered his books and hurried to the parking lot where Phil sat waiting in his MG. He got in and tossed his books in the back. Phil studied him with narrowed eyes, then smiled.

"Well, it's good to have you back among the human race," he said, revving the engine as he warmed it up. He extended his hand and Roger shook it. "What happened to you, anyway? Suddenly you lost that pained, constipated look. For a while there I thought we'd lost you for good."

"Oh, nothing," Roger said. "I did have a few personal things on my mind, but everything's going to be all right. I guess I have been sort of a pain in the ass. Sorry."

Phil slapped Roger on the back. "Hey, Ginny's having another little fuck and suck party at her place again. There'll be grass and wine and the whole thing. We didn't plan on having another male there, but I'm sure it'll be all right now that you're normal again. Come on along, huh? I'll even give you Lori. She's asked about you a few times. Frankly, I think she's hot for your body. She's one nice piece of pussy. What do you say?"

"Thanks, Phil, but there's one more thing I have to take care of this afternoon before I'm completely normal. I'll have to pass."

Phil shook his head, frowning. "I don't know about you, Rog. I thought you were normal again, but anybody who would turn down a screw with Lori has to be sick."

Roger mussed Phil's hair in a gesture of genuine appreciation. "I have been a pain in the ass, I admit," he said. "Just be patient with me a little longer, okay? After today I should be back to normal. Today I have to go on home. Tomorrow I should be a new man."

"Whatever you say," Roger said, and backed the car out of the lot.

Ten minutes later Phil screeched the MG to a halt in front of Roger's house. Roger got his books and stepped out.

"Well, I better make time or all the pussy will be taken," Phil said. "See you." He jammed the stick shift into first gear and dug out.

Inside, Roger put his books down on the dining room table and went to the hall closet where he and his mother had stacked all the relics from his early years. As though hypnotized, Roger found himself handling the scrap-books his mother had carefully assembled down through the years, his grammar school report cards, drawings and cut-outs he had made in the first and second grades. Yes, she had been a truly loving mother, he thought, to hoard these memories of her son and treasure them. Quite possibly, too, his father had not been an easy man to live with. What with his almost insane drive to succeed and his selfish behavior it was a wonder his mother had stayed married to him for as long as she did. Norma Dunham, his mother, had been a truly self-sacrificing and loving mother ... an angel ... and it had taken all these years for him to really appreciate her ... all these years for them to discover that they loved each other in a way that few sons and mothers would ever know. The situation would not be an easy one to survive because the world did not understand or approve of the kind of relationship they had started. But their love would overcome these obstacles, he thought. Somehow they would make it work. They had to!

Roger ran his hand across a rectangular, silk-covered book with a picture of a baby on the cover. MY BABY it read on the blue cover. He opened it and looked at all the things his mother had saved. There was a lock of his hair taped to one page and on another page his first baby tooth that had come out. There were notes on his height and weight throughout the years along with loving, descriptive notes on Roger Dunham's behavior-his first words, his favorite foods, his first birthday party....

There had to be at least a hundred photographs of him in his crib, in his high-chair, crawling on the floor, walking for the first time. Tears came to his eyes as he realized the patience and love that had gone into the preparation of this book by his mother. What total devotion, love, adoration, concern, had gone into the book! How many mothers would have taken the time and effort required? It was almost as though, even then, Norma Dunham and her son were destined to share a unique and very special relationship once he grew old enough to respond as a man and repay her with sexual lovemaking.

Finally, at the end of the book, Roger came upon a long letter his mother had written to her son. It was charged with emotion and obviously written with great and loving hopes by a woman whose sole concern in life was the welfare of her baby. Roger had scanned the baby book many times before, but somehow he had never bothered to read these words. In fact, he didn't recall ever having seen them before. Still, the ink was old and the letter had obviously been written years ago. He visualized his mother writing the words with tears in her eyes and a trembling hand. He visualized her, much younger then and even more beautiful then than she was now (if that were possible!). Deeply moved, he read:

"My darling son: Well, you have been the joy of my life these past few months indeed since you were born. Every sound you utter, every movement of your strong little body, brings me such pleasure I cannot begin to describe it. God has blessed me with you and I shall never desert you, my love. No matter what, I will see that you never want for anything. As long as I am able to breath you will be the inspiration for my existence. Without reservation I can say that I would literally give my life for you. I do not know if all mothers feel as I do about their sons, but I feel that I was born with one mission-to give birth to you, Roger, and love you with all my heart for so long as I may live ... I know that you will grow up to be a fine young man and that I will be very proud of you. I see you accomplishing great things, achieving any goal you set for yourself. . . "

There was more-much more-but Roger could not finish reading the words because of the tears that filled his eyes. He put the book back with the rest of the things in the closet and shut the door. Then he stood there and resolved to make something of himself. He would become something that his mother would be proud of so that her confidence and loving devotion would not have been in vain. And tonight he would tell her that he, too, felt more strongly about his mother than boys his age were usually capable of. The years she had given of herself had not passed in vain. He was old enough now to tell her-show her-and the demonstration of his love would prove beyond a doubt that her love and confidence in him had not been wasted. They would make beautiful physical love and their lovemaking and vows of eternal devotion to each other would be the natural and fitting culmination, their rewards, for the years which had passed from the day of Roger's birth-his very conception-to this inevitable instant of blissful recognition.

Roger decided then that a gift was appropriate. He would buy her a bottle of perfume and a card. He went out the kitchen door and walked smiling toward the drug store, two blocks away. It was a beautiful afternoon and the lawns and shrubbery in the front yards of the houses lining the street on which he was born were trim and healthy and fresh. Everything was in place and in order. He felt a deep contentment and serenity.

In the drug store he selected a large bottle of perfume and had it gift-wrapped. The card he selected seemed appropriate, too. The words spoke of gratitude and love and a promise for future happiness. The salesgirl seemed to smile a knowing secret smile as she handed Roger the package and accepted his money. Could she possibly suspect that this was no ordinary gift from a boy to a girl? he asked himself. Of course not. She would have to be a witch, a sorceress, to know that this package was not merely a gift but a tribute, a celebration, of an incestuous love between a boy and his mother. But there was something different about this girl's manner. Roger put the change she handed him in his pocket and decided that perhaps there was a kind of magic current-something beyond two-and-two-makes-four-that disturbed the air and gave a hint to people that something was different when a boy loved his mother the way Roger loved his mother.

Roger dismissed the notion from his mind, though, and left the store. At home, he placed the gift-wrapped bottle of perfume and card right on the dining room table where his mother would see them when she came in. Then he went to his room to do his homework.

Norma Dunham was not alone when she came home. There was somebody else with her. A man. Roger's heart sank as he sat up, alert, from his history book and strained to listen to the conversation between his mother and the deeper male voice. Who was it with her? Mr. Gorshin? Richard Gorshin was the manager of Bartlett's Department Store and Norma Dunham's boss. Once before she had brought Mr. Gorshin home for dinner. Had she brought him home for dinner? Roger hoped not. Of all night's to have things go wrong! Roger thought.

He got up and went into the living room and saw his mother and Richard Gorshin standing in the kitchen.

"Hello, dear," Norma Dunham called. "You remember Mr. Gorshin, don't you? From the store?"

"Sure," Roger said, trying to hide his disappointment. "Good to see you again, Mr. Gorshin. How have you been?"

Richard Gorshin was balding, short and heavy. He took himself very seriously and spoke in an authoritative high-pitched voice that annoyed Roger, but since he was his mother's boss Roger knew he had to be pleasant to him.

"Fine, Roger," Gorshin answered. "I'm just fine. Your mother was kind enough to invite me over for dinner tonight so it looks like there'll be three of us. Say, you're growing like a weed, Roger. Getting to be a real man. I can see why your mother is so proud of you. Yes, sir. A fine-looking boy."

"Thank you," Roger said, thinking, what a pain in the ass you are, Gorshin, and of all nights you had to stick your fucking boss' nose into this house. Why don't you go and have dinner out somewhere where people don't have to listen to your goddam boring conversation, you silly bastard?

"Yes, he's getting to be more of a man every day," Norma Dunham agreed, tilting her head to one side as she happily admired her son. "I don't know what I'd do without him."

I do, Roger thought. You'd use your vibrator on your cunt because you wouldn't have a son to visit when the lights go out. Roger caught himself then. What am I thinking? he thought. Here he had been swearing eternal devotion to his mother and now he was thinking horrible thoughts about her. It's just jealousy, he told himself. Jealousy. He was amazed that he was capable of feeling such disappointment because his plans had all gone wrong. Still, he had planned what could amount to the most important moment in both of their lives and now this dumb cocksucker, Gorshin, had shown up to ruin everything. He felt crushed-completely and totally crushed by this unexpected turn of events.

"Why don't you and Mr. Gorshin go on into the den and turn on the TV or talk or something while I get dinner ready?" his mother said, and then her eyes caught sight of the gift-wrapped package on the dining room table. "My!" she exclaimed. "What on earth is this?" She went over and picked up the present and looked at the card. "Roger, is this from you?" He nodded solemnly.

"What a wonderful surprise, dear. What's the occasion?"

"Oh, nothing. I just felt like giving you a little something. It's just a-a little something to show my appreciation." He was sure his phrase "show my appreciation" would not pass over her head. He watched now as she removed the card from the envelope and read it. When she finished it, she turned to Gorshin and said, "What a wonderful son, isn't he? How many boys buy their mothers presents simply out of appreciation."

"Such consideration is truly touching," Gorshin said, and he seemed to mean it.

"Touching? Why it's more than just touching," Norma Dunham said, coming over and hugging her son.

Roger accepted her kiss on the cheek and her hug with slight indifference. He didn't feel like demonstrating his affection for his mother in front of Gorshin. Roger wished he could show this man in some way that he had ruined everything, that he could say something that would make the man go away without losing his mother's job for her.

"How many boys would do such a thing for their mother?"

"Not many-that's for certain," Gorshin said. "Most of them are out shooting dope in their arms or smoking marijuana or blowing up banks or universities. You are a most refreshing change, Roger. I can't tell you how impressed I am at this display of affection. It's a tribute, too, to have the mother of such a son working as toy buyer in Bartlett's department store." Gorshin pondered this. "In fact, I wish there were some way we could publicize something like this. I really do."

Why don't you go fuck yourself, Gorshin? Roger thought. Why don't you go and publicize the fact that you stick your fucking nose in places at awkward times where you're not wanted?

Norma Dunham had the package unwrapped now. "Perfume!" she cried. "Oh, Roger," she said, removing the top and sniffing. "And it's such a lovely fragrance! Smell, Mr. Gorshin," she said, holding out the bottle.

Gorshin inhaled and agreed that it was wonderful. "Just wonderful."

Why don't you shove it up your ass, Roger thought, looking at Gorshin. You'll be able to get the true fragrance better with it sticking up your flabby ass. "I'm glad you both like it," Roger said.

Norma Dunham gave her son a final kiss on the cheek and then sent both men to the den so that she could prepare dinner. In the den, Roger promptly turned on the evening news so that they could watch television and he wouldn't have to make conversation with Gorshin. Several times Gorshin made attempts to inquire about school and girl friends and Roger's thinking on current political happenings, but each time Roger merely gave him a curt reply and again focused his attention on the television screen. Finally, Gorshin seemed to give up and himself stared at the news, concentrating on it.

Norma Dunham had brought home steaks and the kind of potatoes that take only a few minutes in the oven. When she had fixed the salad and set the table, she announced that dinner would be ready in a minute and the two of them could sit down now. "I hope you're not disappointed, Mr. Gorshin, but remember this invitation came up on the spur of the moment and I told you it wouldn't be anything imagine."

"It will be just fine, Norma," Gorshin assured her. "I'm sure it will be just splendid. I'm delighted that you even bothered to ask me.

Fuck you, Roger thought. I hope you choke on the salad. Then we won't have to listen to you for the rest of the goddam meal.

As they ate, Gorshin discussed happenings at Bartlett's department store-sales, procedures, the dollar volume of each of the departments, problems in personnel, Norma Dunham's fine job in the toy department. Somehow or other, as he spoke, he emerged as the reigning power behind all the momentous events that took place in his narrow world of Bartlett's. Roger thought he was going to throw up if he had to hear any more about how Bartlett's would have gone out of business years ago if it weren't for the loyal and able guidance of the magnificent Richard Gorshin. Gorshin even implied that only the privileged employees (meaning those who didn't really have to work for a living but chose to work because they preferred to stay active instead of lolling about at home), such as Norma Dunham, were the only reliable, productive employees. He gazed about the large, expensively furnished house as he spoke very confidentially on this matter.

Roger wondered if Gorshin saw his mother as a potential wife. After all, she didn't really have to work and it was pretty obvious that she wasn't in need of the salary Bartlett's department store paid her. Also, he was a bachelor. The thought distressed Roger, even though he'd heard his mother refer to Gorshin as a petty little man who thought himself important even though he wasn't. The thing that really annoyed Roger about Gorshin was that such a man could actually become the manager of a store.

Did all managers really see employees who worked because they need their salaries to feed and clothe and house themselves as inferior? Roger certainly hoped not.

Immediately after dinner, Roger excused himself, saying that he had to study and departed for his room. Gorshin expressed admiration for any boy who took his studies so seriously, unlike the bulk of lazy students today and his mother dutifully agreed with him.

Behind his closed door, Roger once again cursed the day Gorshin was born and idly lay on his bed reading ancient history instead of the history assignment Mr. Harrington's class was supposed to be studying. He had been reading for perhaps an hour when it occurred to him that he hadn't heard any voices for a long time. He got up, quietly opened his door and listened.

Nothing.

Softly, he went down the hall between the wall and the huge flagstone fireplace that stood out from the wall and created a kind of second wall that didn't reach the ceiling. He peered over the flagstone into the large room and saw Mr. Gorshin raising his mother from the sofa, leading her by the hand. To his horror, he saw that his mother's blouse was unbuttoned and that her hair was slightly mussed. Worse, Gorshin's pants front was bulging at the crotch!

Jesus, he thought, could his mother actually let Gorshin fondle her? Obviously she had. And now it looked as though they were headed for the bedroom. Roger knew that his mother wasn't fond of the man. Why then was she consenting to this kind of thing? She didn't need her job at Bartlett's-that was certain-and she had been making love with him lately, so she couldn't be horny. Why would a woman who had been fucking her son and enjoying it let a dumb ass-hole like Gorshin even touch her? It was beyond him.

In amazement, Roger watched as the two embraced, their stomachs pressed tightly together, and then walk off toward the bedroom. Suddenly Norma Dunham halted, whispered something Roger couldn't hear in Gorshin's ear and headed for his room. Roger ducked and just made it to his room before his mother knocked on his door.

"Yes," he called. "Come in."

His mother opened the door and peeked around the corner. "Son," she said, "Mr. Gorshin and I are going to the rear of the house and go over some figures. He wants to talk about sales in the toy department or something. We shouldn't be too long, but I just wanted to let you know in case you wondered where we were.

Don't disturb us for a while, all right?"

"All right," Roger said, rage welling within him. Did she really think she was fooling him peeping around the corner that way so that he couldn't see that her blouse was unbuttoned? And what figures did she have in mind? Mr. Gorshin hadn't even brought a briefcase with him.

His mother crinkled her nose as though she were annoyed with Mr. Gorshin. "I guess I do have to humor the old goat a little, don't I?"

"Yeah, I guess you have to humor him," Roger said evenly, making no attempt to hide his disgust. "Go ahead and study those figures. Yeah."

His mother frowned a little at his tone of voice, registering surprise, then slowly shut the door.

Perhaps five minutes had passed when Roger could stand the suspense no longer. He left his room and checked out the living room. Empty. The bedroom door was closed so he decided to exit through the patio and try to peek in his mother's bedroom. It was cool for October and there was practically no moon. It was very dark. He walked along the side of the house to the large window that looked into his mother's bedroom and stopped. The drapes were drawn, but not completely, and he could get a good view of the room through the crack in the thick drapes. He stared in disgust and horror at the sight inside.

His mother lay naked on her back with her legs spread wide while Gorshin, still wearing his shorts, was sucking on her tits and fingerfucking her cunt. She didn't seem to be overly passionate. Her arms weren't around his neck and she wasn't thrusting with her hips, but she was letting him do those things to her body. How could she? Gagging, Roger vomited into the shrubbery, then forced himself to peer in once again.

Now Gorshin removed his shorts and his little pecker stood out stiff and eager. Roger couldn't believe that his mother could cooperate so completely. When Gorshin took her hand and placed it on his whanger, she began jacking it slowly up and down, squeezing and fondling to bring it to its full length. He groaned then and straddled her so that his prick rested between her swollen breasts. She didn't seem carried away with passion but Gorshin was shaking and shuddering from head to toe as if he'd go crazy if his little prick didn't find something hot to imbed itself in soon. Drooling, he made a crevice of her tits by pressing them firmly together and began fucking the crevice. To Roger's horror, his mother then reached down and began gently tickling Gorshin's nuts. His body began bucking involuntarily then and he pulled her head so that her mouth touched the head of his prick. She responded by darting her tongue in and out of her mouth, teasing the head of Gorshin's organ so that it jerked violently in response to wet heat.

Her tongue against the tip of his organ drove Gorshin to a frenzy and he scooted up farther on her chest and drove his cock well into her waiting mouth. She didn't resist his entry and, in fact, began nursing steadily, bobbing her head as she ingested more of his penis with each thrust of his hips. Then she gripped his prick with her hand and guided it in and out of her mouth. Her cheeks were hollow from the suction and Roger could see saliva and semen running from the corners of her mouth and down her chin to her breasts. Roger thought that he might burst into tears and break the window through which he peered with one mighty blow of his fist, but instead he stood transfixed and staring mutely at the incredible sight before him.

Gorshin reached behind his own buttocks now and began running his finger up and down the length of Norma Dunham's gushing slit as she continued sucking on the stout member penetrating her lips. Roger guessed that Gorshin was preparing to mount his mother and fuck her any minute. He wasn't sure he could stand to watch much more. He wanted to run back into the house and hurl himself on his bed, cover his head with his pillow and blot out the vision of this man sticking his cock in his mother's mouth. But something still held him fixed in place, as though he were a bystander watching some hideous accident, revolted but unable to leave the gruesome scene, wanting to leave but remaining, staring yet not wanting to stare.

Still squeezing her tits, Gorshin forced himself to remove his cock from the hips that nibbled and gobbled his organ and slid down until his hips were parallel with Roger's mother's. He poked his whanger a few times into pubic hair, trying to find cunt heat, and finally managed to insert himself into the hot slit that he'd made mushy with his finger. Then his butt began quivering as he fucked Roger's mother like some desperate rabbit. If his mother had just lain there allowing the man on top of her to have his way with her body Roger might have been able to forgive her. But instead, she locked her ankles around his legs and pumped almost as fast as Gorshin. Does she really enjoy fucking this bungling fool? Roger asked himself, gagging once again. Could this same woman, his mother, who had made such beautiful and tender love to him now behave like an animal with this man Roger knew she did not respect? Tears streamed down his cheeks as he stared at the writhing, panting couple fuck their way toward orgasm. His mother ... her legs spread and shoving her cunt up hard to meet another man's plunging cock ... pulling at his ass ... drawing him in ... clutching and welcoming ... urging his prick to empty itself in the hot interior of her body. How could she? How could she?

Furiously, tears still running down his cheeks, Roger unzipped his fly, withdrew his limp cock and flogged it until it stood erect. His palm worked rapidly over his foreskin, trying to catch up with his mother's sex partner so that he would come when the hated man did. Yes, if he couldn't fuck his mother as this man did at least he could defiantly spend his sperm against the shrubbery at the exact moment this despicable male slung his sperm into his panting mother. He did not know why he elected to jack off and watch his own mother getting fucked but something deep within him dictated that he do so as an act of vengeance.

Roger watched closely, watching for the tell-tale signs, the signal that would tell him that Gorshin was coming. He did not have to wait long. Gorshin's mouth opened wide and he began gasping and pumping his ass faster, faster, driving his penis into the cunt beneath him with incredible speed. He threw Roger's mother's knees up high against her chest suddenly and fucked with a fury and intensity beyond belief. Yes, he was nearly there, getting closer, closer. Roger couldn't tell if his mother was near orgasm, but he didn't care and apparently Gorshin didn't care either.

All the sonofabitch cared about was dropping his load into the cunt beneath him and to hell with her needs. Good ... Good, Roger thought, flailing away at his meat. I hope she deceives you and only pretends to come. No, I hope she just lies there and lets you know that all your ass-pumping didn't please her at all. I hope she tells you, you're the worst excuse for a fuck she ever met. I hope she tells you to take your lousy little prick back to Bartlett's Department Store and sell it as a joke in the toy department. . .

Gorshin was getting ready to come now and Roger flailed at his own prick faster, too. There he went. He spasmed all over and collapsed on top of Roger's mother in an inconsiderate heap. A few more strokes and Roger came, too, spraying the shrubbery with his jism. Just as he reached his climax, Roger received the reward he had prayed for. He saw his mother's face, turned away to the side so that Gorshin could not see her expression, and he knew that she had not come. She looked completely frustrated.

Everything was all right suddenly-no, not all right because it could never be all right watching another man fuck his mother-but at least he had the satisfaction of knowing that this cretin, this simpering nothing who had dared to defile his mother had not satisfied her. She had only allowed him to mount and penetrate her out of some whim. Perhaps he even repulsed her. Yes ... yes, that was it ... she had found him unsatisfying and thoroughly revolting....

Roger's knees were beginning to buckle beneath him. Weak, he steadied himself with his hand against the building. Then he sneaked back through the sliding-glass patio door to his room and fell on his bed. He lay there, despair and exhaustion and disgust surging through him. After a while, he managed to undress and climb between the sheets. He reached up and turned off the light above his bed and lay staring into the darkness. Why had she done this thing with another man when she had professed such love for son? He did not know. He only knew that if she dared to enter his room tonight he could not predict his behavior. He would tell her to leave and never touch him again. But he knew that she would not come to him tonight. He just knew it. And then, slowly and sadly, he knew something else. Tonight he could not forgive her, true, but tomorrow he would. He loved his mother beyond reason, beyond life itself, and he would forgive her somehow. She would explain why she had done this awful thing with Gorshin and he would understand and forgive her. She would promise never to do such a thing again and then he and his mother would become lovers for the rest of their