Those Autofellatio Blues Ch. 10

"Call me and let me know when I can come over."

Mom said she would, and then they shared one last kiss goodbye. They walked out of the bedroom together, and the last thing I heard Bridget say was, "Where did you get that fabulous suit?"

I had to decide whether to break cover and make a break for my bedroom, but staying put seemed the safest course of action. When Mom returned a scant twenty seconds later it seemed I'd made the right choice. She trod lightly across the carpet, I half-expected her to start skipping. I could not believe, COULD NOT BELIEVE, that my Mom had just had sex with Bridget Landau. You Mom isn't supposed to fuck your prom date. It's just not done.

She started stripping the bed and I huddled underneath, trying to make myself invisible. As she worked Mom sang lightly to herself, a cheery little tune with lots of tra-la-las. Here I was ready to throttle her and she was channeling Mary Poppins.

Mom carelessly tossed her suit jacket, skirt, and blouse by her closet door, then piled the bedding on top. I watched her feet move to the bathroom, and a few seconds after the door closed I heard the shower running for the second time this afternoon. I waited until I heard the glass shower door slam shut and Mom's singing before I crawled out of my hole. I walked downstairs and out the front door. There was no reason to sneak out the back, I wasn't a burglar anymore, just a pissed-off teenager stalking out of his house. The thrill was gone, replaced by a sick, green dyspepsia that made me belch with every other step.

And each step was painful, because of the hammer in my pants. I was fiercely erect, and my arousal just made me madder and madder, because I knew the cause of it. I was so angry at Bridget, at my Mom. I remembered that Bridget said Elaine gave her the idea of how to settle things with my mom, so I had that redheaded troublemaker to thank for the evening's twisted entertainment. I was mad at all those females who thought I was just some pathetic little kid, a puppet for wiser, more mature hands to manipulate, the only string that mattered to them the one connected to my penis.

By the time I reached my car I was in a rage. I wanted to bury this bone between a woman's thighs, but whose? Bridget's? Never. Mom's? Eeeee-yuck. Elaine's? Absolutely not. Who, then?

When I came up with the answer I started to laugh. Not a chirpy giggle like my post-coital mother, but an evil-genius-hatching-a-plan cackle. "Oh, yes," I said as I pulled out the parking lot. I had time, as much as an hour, and that should be plenty. I drove fast but in control, I had to keep a lid on my boiling anger or I might start plowing over pedestrians like I was a character in Grand Theft Auto. I reached my destination and stepped on the parking brake with so much force I thought my foot would go straight through to the concrete.

I rang the doorbell, and while I waited I unbuttoned my shorts. When I saw a familiar silhouette through the window I pulled them down and freed my panting organ. It jutted out from my body in all its obscene glory. The woman in the doorway was gorgeous, her lustrous black hair pulled back, bright red lipstick, a black tank top and tight white slacks. The woman looked me in the eye, then looked at the enormity between my legs, and she said, "Oh, Jesus."

I moved closer, until my penis was just inches from her belly. "Are you going to let me in, Julia?" I rubbed the head of my dick against her stomach and crotch, smearing the syrup leaking from my cockhead over her blouse and pants. "Let me inside, Julia, please," I said, rubbing my penis between her legs, staining the thin white fabric into near-transparency. "Come on, let me in."