Kendo's Video

What? I couldn't believe what I was hearing. You think you did something bad?

"Um," I said, stalling in hopes that words would enter my brain. The ones that did came out as, "So you got a little drunk. Nobody cares."

"No, honey, I got a lot drunk. I got falling-down blackout drunk in front of all your friends, and --"

"Seriously, Mom, nobody cares."

"And I think I may have had sex with one of them."

More steam from the pancakes told me that they were nearly done.

"Uh ..."

She was looking at me like she expected me to freak out and get pissed at my friends, or ask who it was, or else be obviously disappointed in her. I looked down at the pancakes and started scraping them up with the spatula.

"You ... uh ... think you did?"

"No." She let out a miserable sigh. "No, I know I did. Or at least, one of them had sex with me. I may have been completely out when it happened."

"Well," I said, dropping the last of the pancakes onto a stack. I'd made two plates, three big fluffy pancakes on each. But Mom didn't sound hungry right now, and I know I sure wasn't. "Well, Jesus, Mom. That wouldn't be you doing something bad, that would be them, right? Who ... uh ... who does that? To a woman who's passed out? That's ..." That's a total shit thing to do. Oh my god, and I did it. How could I do that? My throat tried to close off as I kept talking. "That's -- I mean, why would you blame yourself for that? That's awful."

But instead of being consoled by my attempt to absolve her, she looked even more guilty.

"Because ..." She swallowed deeply. It looked like she might cry. "Oh god, you're going to be so disgusted by this but I can't let you think your friends would just ... Adam, I told them to. I told them they could, and I wasn't even drunk when I said it."

I looked back down at the griddle, realized I needed to shut it off, and turned the knob. She obviously expects me to be horrified, but how can I fake that?

"Maybe ... you just need to ... explain? I don't -- I mean ..."

"It was such a shitty thing to do," she said. "I was ... fuck, I was so pissed at Jack for wrecking our weekend, wrecking our whole relationship, when I was hoping it would be so romantic, and that maybe we could get some spark back, maybe I'd actually get to --"

She caught herself and looked guiltily my way again -- I guess for almost saying 'Get to have my brains fucked out.'

"Um, you know, get to enjoy ... being in bed again. After the last couple of months of it being worse and worse and less and less. And when your party got going and I could hear everybody having fun and -- and being so young. So young and happy. I got mad and I got depressed and I decided to go out and get my Godiva and just drink the whole bottle in my room so I wouldn't have to think about it anymore.

"And then ... oh dear god, I was so gross, Adam."

What could I say? I damn sure couldn't say, No, Mom, you were amazing. You were so fucking hot.

She pushed herself to keep going, and I didn't want to stop her because she seemed to need to tell me, but every word made her more upset. "I came out of my room, and somebody said you'd taken Kerry home, and I glanced over at the game room, and Trace and Kendo and Don were there hanging out behind whoever was playing and ... and something snapped."

And she told me all about it. About taking them out in the garage. Sucking all their cocks. Letting Kendo video it.

And propositioning them to fuck her once she passed out.

She was crying by the time she got through that part. "I know they're good guys, Adam. I know it, and I still manipulated them to make myself feel sexy. I acted like they were just puppets I could do anything I wanted to. I gave myself a total slutty-milf power trip blowing them all, and then I told them they could do something they all knew they shouldn't do. And -- and --"

She half-choked and half-sobbed at the same time.

"And I got up this morning and my pants and bra had obviously been put back on me by a teenage guy and when I went to the bathroom, I -- there was -- oh god, I'm sorry, you do not want to hear that part ... but I know them, Adam, and I know whoever it was probably feels terrible about it, and I did that to them and to myself!"

Just below my stomach, her words broke open a chasm that tried to suck me down into it. Somehow, I'd been sure that as long as she didn't know it was me, she would be happy at finding out her fantasy had come true. At being irresistible to my friends after that idiot Jack didn't appreciate her sexiness. And if I'd imagined any part of it disturbing her, it would have been the sense of helplessness that some unknown, self-gratifying male had take advantage of her in her sleep.

But of course, this was Mom. It shouldn't have surprised me to find her horrified that her teasing and her careless, tempting vulnerability might have harmed someone else.

I've ruined everything. Why didn't I see how much this would hurt her?

The chasm opened greedily beneath me, and just as I teetered on its edge, about to fall into it and drop through a well of emotional breakdown, an image popped into my head and answered the question for me. It was that last moment of Kendo's video -- Mom looking back at the camera with a tempting smile, her eyes meeting mine directly, full of fire and sexual hunger, while her lips curled and flexed archly as they formed those words: "Anyone who wants to can fuck me in my sleep."

I hadn't seen that it would hurt her because it had been so clear that she wanted it.

"Mom." She'd put her face in her hands, shoulders trembling. If she heard, she didn't look up at me, so I unstuck myself from my place by the griddle and walked over and pulled a chair up where I could sit facing her. After a deep breath, I put my hand on her right shoulder and said it again. "Mom."

Her skin felt cool and soft to my touch. For a moment, she continued to shudder -- then the trembling subsided and she looked up at me, eyes wounded and searching desperately for comfort.

"Look, you ... when you told them they could ... do that, did you mean it?"

Her mouth twitched. The shame in her eyes said she wanted to look away, but she didn't. Instead, her left hand came up to cover mine, as though scared I would pull it back. "Oh, Adam, honey, I'm sorry, it's so gross, and you shouldn't have to hear that your mom would ... would ..."

"But did you mean it?"

She nodded and dropped her gaze to her lap, unable to look me in the eyes. "Yes. I -- I just wanted someone to want me like that -- as a woman. And I couldn't -- it would be so wrong if I actually asked one of them to go to bed with me. And even worse, what if they said no? It was so cowardly. And sick."

I slid my hand from her shoulder to her neck, her jaw, and then her chin, coaxing her to look up at me. Her eyes met mine full of guilty, humiliated tears.

"Listen, Mom, you're saying they're good guys and you tempted one of them into doing something he'll feel bad about, but maybe -- maybe you need to give them either less credit than that, or more credit than that."

Her eyebrows furrowed.

"What do you mean?"

When I'd moved my touch to her chin, her hand had slid down along my forearm and now rested there, lightly -- uncertainly. I let go of her chin and took that hand in both of mine.

"I mean, they're guys. Maybe they would feel bad about doing something like that, but if you act like nothing ever happened and treat them exactly the way you did before, well, the feeling bad part will probably go away pretty quickly and they'll just be left with this memory of ... um ... doing something amazing with you. That you asked them to do. Guys are shallow. If nobody comes after them for doing something wrong, and if the wrong thing felt good enough, they'll let themselves off the hook."

She gave a small nod. "Okay ... but what did you mean, maybe I should give them more credit?"

Her hand felt calm in mine now, warm and relaxed and ... hopeful? It had dropped to her lap as we spoke, and my hands, around it, rested against the fabric of her sweat pants.

"Well, maybe -- maybe think about the possibility that they trusted you when you said you wanted them to do it. And maybe part of the reason they did it wasn't just that they're horny teenage guys, but that they ... you know really like you, and decided to give you what you wanted because you wanted it, not just because they wanted it and you said they could."

She sniffled and rubbed her nose with her free hand.

"You're always so good to me, Adam."

Yeah, like that one time I took advantage of you being drunk to fuck you and come in you. The thought -- and my hands resting in her lap, and how beautiful she was, even red-eyed from crying and her hangover -- hardened my dick up in my pants again. Oh, goddamnit. Not now. The last thing I needed was for her to see me getting an erection while talking about someone having sex with her. No, dumbass, the last thing you need is for her to find out you creamed in her vagina last night.

Something must have passed across my face, because she looked concerned and said, "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"No ... no, not at all, I just ..." I thought about saying the pancakes were getting cold and standing up to go get them, but while that would get my hard-on out of her line of sight once I turned, the act of getting up from the chair would make my bulging crotch more obvious, not less.

Her brow furrowed again, and her hand tensed in mine. "Adam -- why are you taking this so calmly?"

Calmly! I just sat blinking at that. I was worried for her and horny for her and guilty about everything and panicking that she'd see the woody in my pants and panicking even more that she'd figure out what I'd done -- and she thought I was calm?

"Did you already -- did someone tell you?" Her voice pitched upward and her eyes widened. "Oh god, they didn't show you that video, did they?"

I could feel the heat in my face -- and I could see in her eyes that she noticed it immediately.

"No," she gasped. "Oh, no, honey. You must think I'm so gross."

"Mom, that's not --"

"What kind of mother tells her son's friends they can gangbang her in her sleep? I'm awful."

"Stop it, Mom." I found myself clutching her hand in case she tried to pull it out of mine. "I'm ten times as awful as you. You're the last person in this house who should be called awful."

She shook her head, looking tortured that I would try to compare myself to her. "Adam, I know you want to make me feel better, but what have you ever done as awful as letting three boys film you blowing them and telling them to get between your legs once you got drunk enough to pass out? When have you ever been as disgusting as that?"

I could feel my lips trembling like they were about to let the words out: It was me. I couldn't breathe or even think how to answer her, because the real answer closed my throat off. It was me. I did it.

And of course, Mom watched me as I sat there in a panic, and she'd known me my whole life, and she could read my expressions like a kindergarten storybook, and I could feel my face getting redder and redder with every horrified second.

Her jaw dropped. Her mouth gaped open. My life is over. She's about to run away screaming, and I'll never be able to talk to her again.

But instead, she just blinked a couple of times and sat back in her chair. Her hand didn't even let go of mine. Her eyes swept up and down and around my face, disbelieving. And when she opened her mouth again, she said:

"Holy. Shit."

I started crying. "Mom -- I'm so sorry, Sandy -- I saw the video, and --"

"I can't believe that fucking worked."

Now I took my turn blinking in shock.

"What?"

The anguish and guilt and pain on her face had fallen away, replaced by a kind of dreamy wonder. She leaned forward again, her free hand rising to rest against my cheek.

"I didn't mean it to, sweetie," she said. "I really didn't think it would. It was just the most pathetic, sorry fantasy ..."

Warmth from her palm soothed its way inward from my face to my brain.

"Mom, what are you talking about?"

Her breathing moved from erratic to steady, from overwrought to strong and settled.

"The whole thing was for you, Adam. The whole time I was in the garage with them, every time I looked at the camera, I was looking at you. I was thinking, 'I want this to be you, Adam.' I settled for your friends because I could never, never, never tell you, and I needed to feel wanted that way, and it took doing that for all three of them to make me feel like as much of a woman as I wanted to feel for you, and at the end of it, when I said they could do whatever they liked with me, I was saying it to you, imagining you'd end up seeing it somehow. And I thought if I woke up in the morning and found myself full of cum, I'd be able to pretend it was yours."

This can't be happening.

But it was. Everything wrong had erased itself from her face -- every worry, every line of shame and self-loathing. Nothing remained but love and the purest look of amazement.

"You're ... not mad?"

She laughed -- on the border of hysterically.

"Oh, honey," she said, shaking her head. "Two minutes ago I thought I was the worst person in the world for tricking my son's friends into doing something sick ... debased -- and now I find out the person I most wanted between my legs was actually there, and doing it out of love, and I get to tell him how I feel, when I never thought I'd be able to. Mad? Adam, I'm ... I'm exploding with joy."

I coughed a little as I felt my face going a different kind of red. "It, um, Mom, it wasn't entirely out of love ..."

That laugh again, that wonderful, musical laugh. The hand I'd been holding between mine pulled loose and went up to the other side of my face, framing it as she stared into my eyes with an impossible fire. Even from the corners of my eyes, I could see the full, hard beads of her nipples pushing out as blue peaks in her tank top.

"And that's what makes it perfect," she said, her voice low and just as heated as her gaze. "You couldn't help yourself, could you? You needed me. Do you know how good that feels, Adam? You needed me so much you lost control -- just like I gave in to the same kind of hunger and let those boys see me and film me the very sluttiest I've ever been. The way I wanted to be for you."

With that, she came up out of her chair, my face still between her hands -- and she kissed me. Not a motherly kiss -- not brief and familial, not a doting gesture of parental affection -- a full-on, open-mouthed, lust-fired clutch of her lips to mine. Before I knew it, her weight settled onto my knees and she was making out with me as fervently as any girlfriend I'd ever had. My erection had managed to sneak into the background of my awareness, but now it came back with a roar, straining against the fabric of my jeans just a few inches from where Mom's thighs parted as she straddled me.

After a stunned, blinking, frozen-in-time moment, I started kissing back.

She'd closed her eyes almost as soon as her mouth locked onto mine. Now she felt my lips and tongue responding to hers, joining the wet, questing connection, and her lids fluttered a little without opening. She leaned harder into the kiss, fingers racing through my hair, breath quickening, igniting with heat. I closed my eyes too, diving into the sightless, plush world of her mouth. My hands had fallen aside when she moved forward and now came to rest lightly atop her thighs. She reacted with a shiver and an involuntary roll of her hips. I slid my fingers and palms along the cottony fabric of her sweat pants, just feeling, no intention in mind. They wound up circling her waist, descending to her ass, pulling her closer, deeper into my lap, until her crotch landed against my hard-on and she gasped.

The kiss broke. She leaned back, eyes wide and looking down where her mound touched the bulge in my jeans. Her lower lip went between her teeth, and then she laughed.

"Oh ... ha -- oh my!"

Watching her face, I saw a giddy embarassment color her cheeks before she looked up at me and some of the exhaustion returned to her features.

"I guess that really wasn't very responsible of me," she said. Her lips pursed and then relaxed into a sheepish smile. "We should probably eat breakfast and talk things through, and -- ow --" One eye squinched shut. "-- let my headache settle down. Before we ... you know, get carried away."

But she didn't get off my lap or scoot back, just settled her hands behind my neck.

"Jesus, Mom. What -- where did this come from?"

Her eyes, blue and deep, wandered gently about my face as she let one thumb brush my cheek.

"It's all right, isn't it, Adam? If it's not, just tell me, and we'll fix things somehow."

"Oh my god, yes, it's all right! I wasn't trying to -- I mean, it just -- I can't believe you're -- we're --"

"Well, we're not -- not just yet." Her hand left my cheek and pressed one side of her head. "Fuck, my head is reminding me it wants to kill me."

I withdrew my hands from the soft fullness of her ass and put them on her knees. "Um ... sorry, I guess we should ..."

She laughed again, then ground down against me until I groaned, slid herself back, and stood up.

"We should eat those pancakes before they get any colder," she said. "You go and grab them while I guzzle the rest of my coffee and see if it helps my poor head."

Then she sat back in her own chair, and I got up to do as she asked.

# # #

Even though she'd said we needed to talk things through, we mostly ate in silence, making weird, awkward eye contact and then saying something like "Whoosh" or "Wow" and laughing nervously. I kept finding myself looking dazedly at the lush valley of her cleavage and the perfect curves of her breasts within her top, then catching myself -- then realizing I didn't have to catch myself because every time I did it, she smiled at my stare. The first couple of those smiles had a bashful edge to them, but after a while they turned proud, and then she took to straightening her back whenever she caught me doing it, so that her tits pushed out even more gorgeously and I had to look down at my breakfast to keep from getting up and tearing her top off. By that point, we basically abandoned all pretense at conversation. Mom opened her mouth to say something a time or two, then finally resorted to an exaggerated, palms-up shrug, after which we ended up just finishing our pancakes as quickly as we could.

"Are you done with that?" I asked, pointing at her empty plate as she chewed her last bite. "Should I clean these up? And the griddle?"

She shook her head, then winced again and rubbed one temple. Swallowing, she said, "Just leave them, Adam."

Then she stood up and took my hand and said, "Come on."

We left the dirty dishes on the table. Mom led me from the kitchen through the living room and down the hall to her bedroom.

Jesus Christ, is she bringing me in here to fuck me?

But no, when she got us to the bedside, she said, "Can we just lie down and hold each other? Maybe my head will start getting better and I'll figure out what to say."

"Um, yeah, sure, that sounds great."

And it did sound great, and since part of me was still freaking out about the way she'd made out with me in the kitchen, it was also a relief to know we weren't just going to leap into doing it.