A Perfect Storm

Invaluable thanks to Stephanie, my editor, my muse... and so much more.

Thunder outside, and a flash briefly illuminated the dark room. I blinked, trying to chase the lingering afterimage. I was very still, and yet I could feel the bed clothes sticking to my sweaty skin. The AC had been on and off during the past hour, sputtering against the heat while there was some power. Now, the whole room was only lit by the tiny emergency light above the door, everything basking in a weird, greenish glow, and the diffuse light from the neon signs outside the window. I turned my head to the side where Mom was lying. She was breathing hard, the air heavy around us, but then again that might have been the alcohol too. She had raided the mini-bar, and the few solid items it contained had been no match for the liquid fuel we had shared. To be honest, I wasn't feeling too spiffy myself. I was dead tired, and it was dark outside, but I couldn't find sleep. I checked the clock by the side of the bed - close to midnight. I sighed, and Mom chuckled. "Can't sleep either, hm?" I shook my head, then realizing she certainly couldn't see me, I mumbled an approximate "nah" that was closer to a grunt.

It had been a long day, and a strange one at that. After all, Seoul was supposed to be a simple connection on our trip to visit Mom's sister who was living in South-East Asia, just in time to celebrate my 25th birthday. But after a rather enjoyable flight, things started to get bad, and everything went downhill from there. First, the area we had to transit through was under considerable repair, leading to what is best described as a pedestrian traffic jam, and we got to our boarding gate only a bare five minutes after it had closed. Funnily enough, our luggage had made the flight, and was on its way to our final destination. "But don't worry," we were told, "you'll be off on the next flight that leaves in five hours." So we waited, biding our time. Eventually we started noticing that there were a lot of "delayed" notices on the screens listing departure times, and we were finally informed that there was a typhoon warning. Due to that, all the flights were going to be grounded until further notice. Some brilliant negotiating on Mom's part had managed to get us a room in a nearby hotel (which was better than staying in the airport itself), on the promise we wouldn't leave the room so that they'd knew where to reach us at all time. So that's how we had ended up in this tiny room with a single double bed in the middle of a tropical storm. We had no change of clothes except what we had on ourselves, and no food except what was in the minibar (there was a vending machine in the hallway, but it took only Korean cash and local credit cards, and therefore was of no use for us). We were awfully jetlagged. "What could possibly go wrong now?" I thought. And that's when the power started going out.

The hotel was clean and totally lacking in personality, but it was quiet and allowed us to finally relax a little. We had taken turns in the small bathroom, enjoying a long shower and washing away some of the tiredness from the trip. It had been stuffy and hot in the tiny room when I stepped out, and I had considered my clothes for a moment, not really feeling ready to put them back on now that I was feeling clean again. Following Mom's suggestion, we had chosen to stick to the minimum and only put back on our underwear to achieve a modicum of modesty. Mom had joked that we would just have to remember to dress up should someone come knocking on the door, but that little bubble of fun had quickly faded away, along with the fresh feeling the shower had provided. We had eaten what little there was in the minibar, had drunk part of what was on offer (and any more would have been unreasonable), and we were both lying in the dark, waiting for time to pass.

To be honest, it wasn't that dark in the room. There was the faint light coming from the emergency sign that gave everything a spooky, greenish glow, and through the windows, there were the neon signs, illuminating the Korean night. I refilled our glasses with lukewarm water out of the repurposed boiler. I turned to the other side of the bed.

"Hey Mom, here's some water."

She sat up, her spaghetti strap tank top straining to contain her heavy breasts, and turned towards me. "Thanks, baby - I definitely need it. I think I shouldn't have drunk that little bottle of vodka..."

I chuckled.

"You should have told me to stop, Chris. Really."

"But I did, Mom."

"Did you, really?"

"Hm-hm."

"Damn, I can get carried away at times."

"Why, are you feeling sick now?"

"No, it's not that. I'm feeling... definitely tipsy, and weird, and..."

"That might be the jetlag too."

"You think so?"

"Yeah. Remember that trip I did during my last year at the U? We had only eight hours of time difference, and yet I felt shitty the first two days or so."

"Wait, you mean this is going to last for two days?"

I smiled. "Maybe more."

She cringed, and shook her head. "Not sure I can stand it that long."

"I'm sure it won't be so bad once we get out of this room."

"I know, I'm so bored and tired... what time is it again?"

"Nearly midnight."

"Damn. And it's still that hot," she said, putting the glass down on the little table on her side.

"Tell me about it. I'm tempted to take another shower."

"What prevents you from doing so?"

I waved at the darkness around us. "There's no light in there. I'd have to leave the door open."

Mom giggled. "How would that be a problem? As you said, it's not like I can see you in there. There's nothing to be worried about. And now that you've got me thinking about it, yeah, I'm going to take one too. Wanna go first?"

"No, please, go ahead," I said, a bit sheepishly. My cock was unexplainably hard, and I didn't want her to notice. By experience, I have found that time difference is okay when it's under seven hours. Anything above means being completely out of sync - feeling sleepy in the middle of the day, crashing to bed early at night and being wide awake two hours later... and having some strange urges at weird times, be it a sudden bout of hunger or a raging hard-on. Which was the case for me at that very moment.

Mom stood up and started towards the bathroom door when there was a loud noise coming from outside. She moved to the window, and I quickly joined her. On the roof of the building across the street, a large billboard was flapping in the wind, with only one remaining steel post holding it in place. And then, right before our eyes, that steel post broke and the billboard was blown crashing away. "Did... did you see that?" I asked, stunned by the violence of the storm. I guess we hadn't really come to grasp what a "typhoon warning" meant, and the sheer reality of it had just been demonstrated to us. Mom moved closer to me, and I protectively wrapped my arm across her shoulder. She huddled against me, as we were trying to look down at the damage the storm had done in the street below. The contact of her skin against mine - her bare shoulder, her hip, her thigh - suddenly rendered the situation quite awkward for me. I moved away, probably a little quicker than I intended, and she looked at me, worried.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, it's just..." I hesitated, looking for an excuse, and explained: "you know, a little sticky with sweat, and..."

She smiled, and said: "Yes, and we had been discussing showers just before. Okay, let me go first, I'll try and be quick." I rolled my eyes, knowing that was so rarely the case, and she caught it. "I promise, this time."

"O-kay," I raised my hands and went back to sitting on the bed, while she discarded her tanktop and panties in the bathroom. I could barely make out the outline of her body, full of lovely curves. Her breasts had always been majestic, and most of my teenage years had been spent either fantasizing about them, or hearing my friends fantasizing about them. But that had been years ago, and I was over that now - at least, I liked to think so. Wary of not being caught in the act of ogling my own mother, I turned my eyes to the storm-battered cityscape outside the window, as the water started running.

Mom proved me wrong, as it probably wasn't much more than a couple of minutes before I heard the water stop, followed by some movement in the small bathroom. Mom came to the door, drying herself. "Your turn," she smiled.

I got inside, dropped my boxer shorts and stepped into the shower. Considering how stuffy the room was (and, probably, the whole city), it was nice to be able to rinse off all the accumulated sweat, but I didn't linger in too long. I grabbed a towel, dried myself a little and walked out into the room, the towel around my waist. I sat down on the bed, letting out a pleasured sigh.

"Feels good, hm?" asked Mom.

"Hell yeah," I replied, enthusiastically. "Too bad the effect won't last..."

"I know," she shook her head. "Almost tempts me to..."

"To what?"

"Just the idea of putting that thing back on..." (she was holding her tank top at arm's length) "... it's all clammy, and... okay, let's just be adults here. This," (indicating the tank top) "is uncomfortable, and since it's only the two of us here, we might as well leave it off."

"Oh, okay," I said, a little surprised by the fact that my mother was going to be topless around me, and I grabbed my boxer shorts to put them back on.

"Hey - the same goes for the bottom, young man."

I startled. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. Come on, don't be so tense! If anybody comes knocking, we'll put something on before answering the door. I know this whole situation is not easy to deal with, so let's just try to relax and get as comfortable as possible."

We looked up at the window as another violent gust of wind made them rattle, as the downpour kept going on. "Well, it's a good thing we're inside," Mom piped.

I nodded, then stifled a yawn. "I hate that I'm wide awake and super tired at the same time." I sighed and laid back across the bed, my feet dangling over the edge, towel still wrapped around my waist. Mom headed to the bathroom door, removing her towel and hung it inside, before coming back to lay on the bed next to me.

There was something oddly sensual to the way the light from outside was playing on her skin, and her breasts were as always breathtaking. During my teenage years, my friends had pestered me by repeatedly asking her cup size, and I eventually had sneaked in her bedroom to check. The label had said "38GG", but to be honest, that had been more interesting to them than to me, since I could witness their majesty on a daily basis. Even today, she looked like a goddess to me.

"Come on, don't be shy," she said.

I shook my head, and accepted the inevitable. I walked to the bathroom and followed suit, leaving the towel to dry inside. I got back and laid on the bed - thankfully, my cock, while swollen, wasn't too obviously erect.

"That's much better," Mom smiled. "Have you been exercising?"

I was surprised by the change of topic, but answered matter-of-factly: "Yes, a little."

"It shows. You look great," she said. "The girls must be all over you."

"If only..."

"Really? I mean, how long has it been since you broke up with Mary, four months?"

"Something like that."

"No need to dwell on it, you have to move on. You're still young, plenty of fish in the sea!"

"Ha ha. Thanks, Mom. But it's not as simple as that. I don't want to... I mean, it has to mean something, you know?"

"Not always. You have time for that, you could also just enjoy yourself and not take things too seriously. As long as you make sure you don't take unnecessary risks, right? But there's nothing wrong in looking for some physical comfort."

"Hm, I don't know..."

"Is that a problem?"

"No, not really."

"That's not a very confident answer. Spill the beans, how were things with Mary?"

"So-so, I guess."

"Ouch. Any idea why?"

"We... we kinda had a lot of fights about it."

She bit her lip. "That doesn't sound good. What was the problem?"

"There were some things she didn't like doing, and..."

"... and you wanted them?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"Was it something out of the ordinary - not that I want you to tell me specifically, but in general?"

"I don't think so."

"You sure?"

"Pretty much. I mean, a blowjob is not something exceptionally kinky, right?"

She chuckled. "Not in my book, no. So, she didn't want to...?"

"Not generally. It was only once in a while, when she felt like trying..."

"Were you an enthusiastic giver - if that's not too personal a question from your Mom?"

"I was. I mean, I liked to joke that 69 was my favorite number." Mom smiled at that remark, and I carried on. "But I don't know, she wasn't into it. And that was also the case with my previous girlfriends, and in a way, I can understand..."

"Their loss," Mom interrupted me unexpectedly. "They don't know what they're missing. I remember the first time I did it, how powerful it was to feel him that way..."

Her voice trailed and she seemed lost in thought for a moment. "Anyways," she brushed it aside, coming back to the present and flashing me a lovely smile. She moved closer to me and gave me a peck on the cheek.

"So, what was it you were saying about Mary?" she asked, breaking the spell. "Any reason she gave for not going down on you?"

I probably should have been a little surprised by Mom's choice of words, but my brain was in a daze. Alcohol and tiredness never bring out the best in us. I sat up cross-legged on the bed, my back against the wall. She remained lying on her side, and I did my best not too look too much at her curves. Shrugging, I answered: "Oh, she thought it was disgusting, and messy, and degrading too. Definitely not her cup of tea."

"Did she have any interest in sex at all? Because most of sex is messy, usually."

"I know, but she was normally inclined, I'd say? Not adverse to it, but not crazy about it either. And really her major no-no was with blowjobs. She even said one time that the taste of cu- of sperm, you know, made her sick."

"Really?"

It was her turn to sit up, mimicking my pose.

"That's what she said. And she was very uncomfortable with it, that's for sure. And there were some very awkward moments too, because of that, or so she claimed."

Mom giggled, grabbed the lone remaining bottle from the minibar (Gin, unfortunately) and poured me a generous glass before doing the same for herself. She made a toast and smiled. "Come on, tell me. We all have our horror stories when it comes to that."

I took a deep breath. "Well, there's not much to it. It was last summer, when we went for the week-end to the beach, remember? Tom and Jess were there too, and Mike and Shelly and some friends of his, we had rented this big house - anyways. One evening, someone suggests we make hotdogs, everybody has a drink or three, and when it comes to cooking the sausages, time has become very relative, meaning that the sausages range from pretty undercooked to almost charred."

"Wait, does your story involves any sex at all?"

"I'm getting to it. So we have a couple of hotdogs , and we go to the beach, and it's just Mary and I and we get a little frisky, you know? And one thing leading into another, we get to the point where my hand is in her panties, and my pants are undone, and she decides that this time, she's going to make an effort and well, give me a blowjob."

"I see a 'but' coming..."

"No, she did try. For about two minutes, and then suddenly she makes a strange noise, she turns away and throws up all over the sand. Quite the mood-killer, as you can imagine. Of course, I was kinda frustrated, but mostly I was worried about her, so we got back to the house and I tried to help her get better. Yet, I don't remember we had any kind of fun afterwards that weekend. And she never agreed to give me a blowjob after that, ever."

"Wow."

"I had some stomach pains that night, so I'm pretty sure it was the hotdogs. I tried to make that point when the topic came up again later, but she didn't want to hear anything about it, and from that point on - no more blowjobs."

Mom shook her head. "Well, baby, you did well to end it, or did she? Don't answer that, I don't care - good riddance," she said with a wave of her hand. "This way you're free to find a woman who'll appreciate you, and who'll give you all the head you want." She giggled and stretched, and I admired the fullness of her breasts as she did so, my eyes darting back up when she looked in my direction. "Want to hear one of my stories? (and not waiting for my answer, she carried on, after taking a generous mouthful of gin) So that was a long time ago, before I met your father. I was with this guy, Pete, who was a sweet guy, and we were on a trip in the South. We had been invited to dinner by some friends who were staying in the area, and we had had a nice evening, though I might have drunk a little more than was reasonable. We were staying at a camp site, and we had like an half an hour drive to get back there. So we're on this big avenue, and there are palm trees on one side and parked cars on the other and it's a little past midnight and there's nobody in sight. We stop at a red light, and I have this sudden urge to tease him. I'm wearing a light summer dress, not too long, so I raise the hem a little, then some more, and I decide to take off my panties."

I guess my eyes got round at that point, because Mom smiled and got a little defensive: "Hey girls gotta have fun too. Stop thinking I'm some kind of fragile flower, this is not the Victorian era anymore."

"Okay, okay. It's just that - this is a side of you I had never imagined existed."

"Oh, you have no idea," she chuckled. "Where was I? Oh yes, I take off my panties, and I start playing with myself, and he's looking and blushing and I know he's turned on. But the light turns green and there's a car behind us, so he drives on, the car overtakes us, and he keeps looking at me and I keep playing with myself. But I want something else, and I begin undoing the buttons of his pants, and when we stop by another red light, I pull his cock out and he's hard. I start playing with him, and it's driving him mad, so much that when the light turns green, he drives only a few yards before parking the car on the side - it's so much of a spur-of-the-moment thing that a car honks at us as it has to swerve to drive by us. Now, the car is stopped, we're still in the outskirts of the city, there's a lot of light coming from the lampposts, but I don't care, I want him and I jump on him and start giving him a blowjob. And he likes it, I know he does, because his hands are all over me, in my cleavage, between my legs... But there's another car honking as it passes by, and then another, because he's parked in a hurry and he hasn't turned off the engine so they see there's somebody in there. And when a third car honks again, he freaks out, and pushes me away. He promises we'll finish when we get to the camp site, as this is too dangerous. So he puts his cock back in his pants, I sulk in my corner, and we drive away again. The only problem is we make a bad turn and get lost, he gets stressed out and we have words, and when we finally make it to the camp site after probably an hour, the moment is gone and we just go to sleep. Things don't improve over the next days, and we broke up as soon as we got back home. Well, I broke up - he was way too nice to do that himself."

"So, just so that we're clear: you broke up with him because he didn't let you suck his cock?"

She giggled. "It's not the only reason, but I guess it kinda contributed to it all. You make it sound so bad..."

"No, not at all, it's just that - you know, considering my own experience, that sounds so... I mean, if that was to happen to me, I certainly wouldn't be telling you to stop." I suddenly realized what I had just said, and quickly tried to correct myself. "That's not exactly what I meant, of course..."