Finals Week

I'd like to thank my editor. You know who you are. You're the best in the business and I love you. This is the first and last story that will be posted under this username. Hope you find it entertaining.

*****

May 19 started very well. It was a Monday and I had a final. I aced it. I went to check the schedule and saw that I didn't have another until Friday. Bummer. I was going to have to hang around all week for one hour. I leaned against the wall, sort of dejected, and I noticed Professor Wilkins coming down the hall.

"Hey, Samantha," he said. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure." I followed him down the hall to his office. He was my Abnormal Psychology professor and that was my Friday final.

He offered me a drink and I took a bottle of water. "Samantha," he began, "there's no reason for you to take this final. You're setting the curve in my class. I think you know the material, there's no possibility of improving your grade, so I'm just going to give you the A you earned and you can skip the final. Is that okay?"

"Um, well, gee, Professor. You know what a masochist I am, so I think I want to take it," I said.

His mouth fell open, then he saw the twinkle in my eye and started laughing. "Yeah, you're quite the expert in abnormal psychology," he said. "Get out of my office and go home."

Home wasn't in the cards that day. I had packing to do. One more semester and I'd be moving on to graduate studies, but I hated my roommate and I wasn't keeping that apartment. Jill was a major slut and I was sick of being kept up at night by the bedroom activities of her and whatever man-ho she happened to pick up that night.

I got my car packed and a good night's rest, for a change. Tuesday morning, I was on the road. I knew Dad was in Orlando for the week, so I tried to call Mom. There was no answer at the house and her cell went straight to voicemail. She either had it off or it was dead.

My Dad was an attorney. He was a founding partner of his firm and he did permits and applications for building and mining operations all over Florida. Mom was a real estate agent, and from all accounts, one of the top sellers in the state. If she was doing a showing, she wouldn't have her phone on and I wouldn't be able to reach her.

It was about 100 miles from Tallahassee and Florida State to our home in Panama City and I made it in with little traffic trouble. There was no one home when I got to the house, and I was feeling lazy, ready for some relaxation.

We own a beach house, and the idea came to me that since Mom didn't expect me home until Saturday, this would be a perfect time to catch Chloe, go to the beach house and spend the rest of the week laying out, drinking a few beers and maybe going clubbing a night or two.

I gave her a call and she was down. I told her I'd swing by and pick her up, and in 30 minutes, we were beach bound. We hit Walmart for some groceries and the liquor store for a case of beer and some wine.

When we pulled up at the beach house, it looked like the Millers were down from Pensacola, next door. They had traded cars. There was a black Lincoln Navigator parked in their driveway.

Chloe and I grabbed the groceries and climbed up to the deck. I put down my bags and got out my keys. To my surprise, the door was unlocked. I slid it open and Chloe and I went cautiously in, wondering if we had a break-in. I set my bags down on the kitchen table and gave Chloe a shushing sign. We tiptoed to the door and peeked into the living room.

There was a naked man standing in the middle of the room by the couch and an equally naked woman giving him head, sitting on that couch!

I got out my phone and took about 15 seconds worth of video. I knew that man and that woman. The naked woman was my mom, but that naked man sure as hell wasn't my dad! It was that pervert, Mark Robbins, from Mom's real estate office.

He was a total creeper. He was constantly leering at anything in a skirt, the younger, the better. I always felt as if I needed to take a shower every time he cast those greasy eyeballs on me.

Chloe was punching me from behind. "Let's get out of here," she whispered.

No fucking way! I picked up the lamp sitting on the table just inside the living room door. Chloe was shaking her head frantically, but I just pulled the plug out of the wall and threw the lamp across the room. Sadly, I missed the creeper, but it exploded on the coffee table with the sound of broken glass. Showers of ceramic sprinkled Mom's face and douchewad's butt. Those old man balls dangled grotesquely, and some of the ceramic shards must have hit them, because he yelped, his hips thrusting forward perhaps a little more than Mom preferred, sending her into a coughing gagging spasm.

They both caught sight of me and Mom gave a shriek as douchenozzel started frantically trying to put one leg into his pants. "Nice, Mom," I said. "Practicing up for Dad?"

I turned on my heel, picked up the groceries, and Chloe and I walked out, leaving the two lovebirds gaping after us. I put the groceries back in the car and turned to Chloe.

"I'm feeling hotel," I said. "My dime. You down?" She seemed bereft of speech and could only nod.

I backed out of the driveway and when I put it in drive, I saw Mom run out on the deck. She was frantically belting a robe around her and I could see her mouth moving. I drove away, seeing her run barefoot down the driveway. Damn, that asphalt had to be hot!

By the time we were a mile down the road, Chloe regained the power of speech. "Christ, Samantha! That was intense! What are we going to do, girl?"

"Plans are unchanged," I said. "We'll spend the night at the hotel, dance at the club, lay out, see what happens. I doubt Mom will be staying. She'll hurry home for damage control and we'll go back to the house tomorrow."

"You're one cool kitty," Chloe laughed. "I mean, what about your Mom? You going to drop a dime on her?"

"No, she's going to do that," I said.

We checked into the hotel and my phone went off in the elevator. Evidently, Mom had collected herself enough to find her phone and turn it on. I answered.

"Samantha!" her voice was breathless. "Thank God you answered, baby. Listen, I need to explain. Come back, baby, so I can talk to you."

"Explain what?" I asked. "You're an adult, you don't have to explain yourself to me."

"That wasn't what it looked like," she said. "It was a horrible mistake, Samantha. I swear..."

I cut her off before she could get any further. "Well, what it looked like was you giving head to some old creeper with his balls hanging down to his knees, Mom. That's what it looked like. Was that not what was happening?"

"Oh, God," she moaned. "No Samantha, please just come back and let me explain. Please don't tell your father."

"Okay," I said.

"Okay? What do you mean, 'okay'?" she asked in a stammering voice. "Okay, you're coming back or okay you won't tell your father?"

"Okay, I won't tell Dad," I said. "I'm not coming back. I won't tell him, I'm going to let you do that."

"Nooo!" Her wail was a despairing cry. "Please, we don't need to tell him. He'll be so hurt, Samantha! You don't want to hurt him like that, do you? I swear, Samantha, it was a huge mistake. I've never done anything like this before and I'll never do it again. Please, your Dad doesn't need to know. He doesn't deserve this. Think how he'll feel."

"Hey, don't put this off on me," I said. "I wasn't the one blowing dickweed; that was you. Were you thinking, 'Oh, Barton won't mind a little blowjob. As long as he doesn't know, he'll be fine?"

She sobbed. "No, I wasn't thinking at all. I'm a little drunk, Samantha. We just closed a big deal on a strip mall and we had dinner and a couple of drinks to celebrate. We were feeling good and it just happened. I swear, baby, it was a huge mistake and if you'll just talk to me there's no need to hurt your father like this."

"I am talking to you," I said. "So far, I've heard excuses. I was drunk. It just happened. Do you think I've never been drunk? Do you know how many guys I've given head to because I was drunk? Zero. I guess if Dad has a couple of drinks you'd be alright with him going down on his PA?"

"No," she sounded as if she was strangling. "Please, Samantha, just come back."

"Is lover boy there?" I asked.

"No, he was just as horrified as I was," she said. "Stop calling him names, Samantha. He's a really good guy, we just made a terrible mistake."

"Oh, I agree about the mistake," I said. "Don't agree about the nice guy, thing. He seems more like the "swinger club" type to me. Always giving the attractive women the once over. He makes my skin crawl. I used to think you were pretty together, Mom. I'm not coming back. I'll give you until Sunday to tell Dad. Who knows, maybe he'll get turned on and be like really into you giving head to other men."

"Samantha, please..." I ended the call. My phone immediately vibrated again, but I didn't answer.

She left message after message, text after text and had my SnapChat full by Saturday. It was boring repetitious shit that I was in no mood to listen to. What is it with cheaters? She was lonely with Dad being out of town so much. His firm was his mistress. It was a one-time indiscretion. It would never happen again. I needed to talk to her.

Well, if she had a problem, why didn't she talk to Dad about it? If she was lonely, I offered to get her a puppy. She was not amused. She offered up the usual plethora of excuses, all boiling down to the fact that Dad practically drove her into the arms of another man.

Of course, it was never going to happen again, and there was no need to get Dad involved. I finally answered one of her calls on Saturday. I knew Dad would be home Sunday, and there was going to be hell to pay.

"What do you want, Mom?" I asked.

I want to talk to you, Samantha. Please, baby, where are you?"

"I'm at the beach house," I told her.

"I'll be there in two hours," she said.

Well, I was going to have to talk to her sometime. Chloe made herself scarce and I made a nice salad. I had two bowls and two glasses of wine sitting on the bar when she came in. She tried to hug me, but I gave her the evil eye and she sat down with a sigh.

"Hungry?" I asked.

"No, not really," she said. "Oh, what the hell, it looks delicious."

We ate and eyeballed each other. "Samantha, what are you going to do?" she asked.

"Um, do about what?" I asked. I wasn't going to make it easy for her.

"Are you going to tell your father what you saw?"

"No, I told you, you're going to do that," I said.

"No, I'm not." She seemed pretty positive.

"Okay, well, that changes what I said," I told her.

"So, you're going to tell him?"

"No, I'll send him the video," I said.

"Jesus Christ, Samantha! You took a video! Why? Where is it?"

"It now resides safely on the cloud," I said. "Do you think I'm stupid, Mom? Once I figured out that you're a cheater, I also figured out that you're a liar. You would probably lie to Dad about it."

She took a deep shuddering breath. "I know you're trying to make me cry," she said. "Why are you being so mean about this, Samantha?"

"Well, let's see." I pretended to think. "I did sort of enjoy having a happy family."

"We can still be happy," she said. "We don't want to hurt your father. If you help me out here, he doesn't ever have to know."

"So you want me to lie to Dad?" I asked. "You want me to lie to you, Mom?"

"You don't have to lie," she said. "All you have to do is not say anything. If we keep this a secret between you and me, it will never hurt him."

"So you cheat on Dad, I help you cover it up, and what he doesn't know won't hurt him," I said.

"Exactly. I swear to you, Samantha, this has never happened before and it will never happen again. I just got stupid, lonely and bored. I love Bart with all my heart. You know that."

"No, I don't know that at all," I said. "Why would I think that? If you loved Dad, you wouldn't be giving blow-jobs behind his back. You were both naked, Mom. You were going to fuck him. You may have already fucked him and were getting him back up for round two, for all I know."

She flushed and wouldn't meet my eyes for a second or two. That was all I needed. "Jesus, Mom, you did. You fucked that perv and you were getting ready to do it again!"

"I told you, Samantha, it was a drunken mistake," she protested. "Haven't you ever made a mistake? Would you want your mistakes spread around?"

"Yes, I do make mistakes. I made a mistake when I agreed to move in with Jill. You know what I did? I paid. I stayed until the lease was up and lived with the consequences of my mistake. That's what you're going to have to do."

"Honey, don't you care about what this is going to do to your dad?" she asked.

"Yes, but I'm not the one who should be answering that question," I said. "Did you think about what this was going to do to your husband when you fucked douchewad? When you had his dick in your mouth, were you thinking about what that was going to do to Dad?"

Tears began to trickle down her face. "No, I wasn't thinking," she said.

"Get your shit together, Mom," I told her. "If you confess to Dad and own what you did, I'll help you out. I'll beg him to forgive you. I'll be here for you, but I'm not going to lie for you and I'm not going to cover up for you."

"He'll throw me out and divorce me," she sobbed.

"Well, what did you expect? That's what you deserve," I said. "You play, you pay. Maybe he won't. Maybe he'll give you some mercy and give you another chance. One thing I know for damn sure, if you don't tell him and he finds out, catches you, you don't have a prayer."

"How would he find out if you don't tell him? Don't you see, Samantha? He never will find out because I'll never do it again."

"What about old beach balls?" I asked. "You think you're the only woman he's banging? What makes you think he won't brag to his buddies about banging the hot MILF? He seems like the type. One thing I know, Mom, cheaters always get caught. You and Dad are 48. I'm not going to let this happen. He's not going to find out five or ten years down the road when he would have trouble finding someone else, if that's what he wants to do. You need to settle up now, tomorrow, and get to work on fixing this. You fucked it up; you should be trying to fix it."

"You're not going to change your mind, are you?" She looked very forlorn.

"No, Mom, I'm not."

She hung around for a couple of hours, trying to talk me into her frame of reference, but I shut her down pretty hard. She got the message after about the fifth time.

"What am I going to do?" she asked. "He's going to kick me out of the house. Where will I go?"

"He can't kick you out of the house," I said. "If you want to leave, you can come here. I'm going home Monday."

"Will you come and stay with me?" she asked.

"Sometimes, maybe. I think Dad is going to need me."

"I'm going to need you, too," she was crying again.

"I'm not dumping you, Mom," I said. "The thing is, if Dad needs me, I'm going to put him first. You fucked this up, not him. I know it's going to hurt you, too, but that's your fault, not his or mine."

"If you would just..." I cut her off.

"How could you even live with yourself?" I asked. "Every time you looked in the mirror, what would you see? How could you look him in the eye and just pretend nothing happened? Maybe you're just that good; I'm not. He would know something was wrong the first time he laid eyes on me. I'm not into deceiving my own parents."

She hung around for 30 more minutes and Chloe came back. She was really nervous with Mom there and the tension was bad. I finally had enough and I told Mom we were going to a club. We left and when we got back at midnight, she was gone.

I didn't know if she had the guts to face what she'd done. She was still pretty much in defense mode, making excuses and blaming Dad. I knew he was gone too much, he always had been. I don't think he ever wanted that, it was just his job.

I knew I'd missed him when I was at home. There had been plenty of times before a game or some event I was in that he'd called 30 minutes before and told me he couldn't make it. It pissed me off, but I sure enjoyed the house we lived in, the pool all my friends came over to swim in, the Mustang convertible I got on my 16th birthday, and the Range Rover I was driving now. I liked having money in my pocket and not having to worry about getting a job while I was trying to concentrate on college.

I was very well aware that affluence comes with a price tag, and Dad was paying the price. I was grateful in many ways and resentful in others. I never thought about applying for some other father to adopt me.

He called me Monday morning and we set it up to meet for lunch at Chile's. He was there when I pulled in and already had a table. He jumped up when he looked up from his menu and saw me. We hugged for a long time.

We sat down and the hostess handed me a menu. "God it's good to see you, baby," he said. "Look up here at me!"

I gave him my best smile. "You're more beautiful than ever," he was beaming. I knew what that meant. She hadn't told him.

"Well, you're still the same old hunky Dad," I smiled back. "Those eyebrows, though, Dad! We are going to have to do something about that!" We were going to enjoy this meal.

"What's wrong with my eyebrows?" he asked.

"Well, there are about four three-inch hairs sticking out like bug antennae," I pointed out.

He felt them. "Those are part of my sensory apparatus," he said. "They keep me from running into walls and stuff." We both chuckled. We always gave each other hell; it was just part of our game.

We ordered and caught each other up. When we were done, I asked him what his day was like.

"Well, I have a 3:00," he said. "You want to hang out a bit?"

"I do, I do," I said. "Can we go to the park?"

"You want me to push you on the swings?" He smiled that goofy grin.

"Yeah, if we can find a swing my fat butt will fit in."

I followed him to the park and we sat beside each other on the vacant merry-go-round."

I took a deep breath. "Um, Dad, I have something to tell you." God this was hard. "I came home from school Tuesday. Nobody was home and I thought I'd pick up Chloe and go down to the beach for the rest of the week."

He shot me a look. "Is that where you've been? At the beach house?"

"Yes, we pulled up at the house and went in."

He groaned. "I'm so sorry, Sammie," he said. He's the only person I've ever allowed to call me Sammie. I was a little confused.

"Do you know what I found?" I asked.

His eyes were moist. "I know WHO you found," he said.

"Jesus, Dad, you know?"

He nodded, very sad and mournful, I thought. "Yeah, I know." His voice broke and I pulled him over where I could hug him.

"How did you know?" I asked.

"It's been going on about a month," he said. "One of my clients told me that Mark has been bragging about..."

"Christ, what an asshole!" That pissed me off. "How could she, with that..."

"You know I don't like you talking like that," he said. "I don't know how, I just know she is."

"What are you going to do?" I asked. "Why haven't you confronted her?"

"I know you're going to find this hard to understand," he said. "The truth is, I love your mother, Sammie. I've been hoping she would realize what she's doing and stop. I've been hoping she'd just tell me it was all a big mistake and go to counseling with me or something. I guess that's over, now. Are you okay, Samantha?"

"Not really," I said. "I walked in on her, Dad. It was bad enough that she was doing it, but the sight of that ass may have scarred me for life."

He chuckled a little. "Well, I was hoping that it wouldn't come to this," he said quietly. "Now she's got you involved and I won't stand for that. I'm going to have to act."