The Matrons of Regal Bay Ch. 18

The Matrons of Regal Bay

Chapter 18

Pamela's Tales -- Part 2

Pamela stood beneath the shower spray, the hot water rinsing the soap from her soft body. She was exhausted and exhilarated both at once. As a recent memory flashed through her mind, her naked pussy trembled between her thighs. A warm trickle of recently spilled semen dribbled from her well-fucked vagina and slid down her inner thigh, mingling with the warm water from the shower as it headed for the shower stall drain. She reached down between her thighs and dipped a long finger up inside herself. She swirled her finger within and pulled even more of the seed from her. There was much to remove.

This had been the third time she had secretly met with Freddy Killibrew. Pamela knew she was pushing her luck. It wouldn't be long before she was caught, she knew that. Eventually someone would recognize her, and Freddy. Eventually her husband would figure out she was having an affair. Eventually she would figure out a better way to find her sexual release. Eventually she knew she would have to take the next step, and make her son aware of the fact that she so desperately wanted him.

Pamela left the hotel room soon after, the night darkness offering up some cover. Still, she knew she was being watched. She was a middle-aged woman who had checked into the hotel that afternoon and now, just over six hours later, was checking back out. It wasn't even mid-night yet. The young woman behind the desk gave her a long, knowing look, with a hint of a smile, when she dropped the room key off. "Have a nice night?" she said in the obvious form of a question. Pamela gave the woman a look, and felt recognition there. It frightened her, but also excited her as well.

"Yes, it was nice," Pamela replied sheepishly.

"Good for you, honey," the clerk replied. "He looked like he had had a good time as well." Pamela saw the grin turn into a wide smile. "Maybe next time, I could join you?"

Pamela felt her jaw drop. She was absolutely stunned by the young woman's comment that she couldn't immediately reply, and when she did, she nodded. "He'd probably like that," she said, again very sheepishly. As an after-thought, Pamela added, "Maybe I'd like that, too." Now where the hell did that come from, she asked herself.

"Just give me a call here," the woman replied. She took up one of the hotel's business cards and scribbled on the back. "I work most week nights. This is my cell number," she handed the card across to Pamela. "Just let me know and I'll make sure you get a good discount, okay?" Pamela nodded in response, still in shock. "I'm Ginger by the way," the young woman added.

"Pamela. Pam," she replied.

"Yes, I know. You're Mrs. Walker. I had you for a teacher my sophomore year at Regal Bay High."

Pam was startled, and then she realized why she had recognized the clerk when she had walked up. She left Ginger with an embarrassed smile, and a mind full of questions. Her drive home took what seemed like an eternity, although in real time it was less than ten minutes. She parked her car in the drive and went inside. Johnny, her son, was still awake, sitting in front of the television in nearly the exact place she'd left him. His father, however, had gone to bed.

"Game over?" Pamela asked as she put her coat away.

"Obviously," Johnny replied. "Otherwise Dad would still be up, wouldn't he?"

Pamela had learned to live with her son's sarcastic replies to anything she asked. She took it as part of his growing up. He was 19, a full-time student at Regal Bay University, and still lived at home with his mother and crippled father. At times, he showed quite a bit of resentment, especially when Pamela asked him to watch his father when she went out with friends. Lately, it hadn't been her friends she was spending time with, however.

"Have fun?" Johnny asked as she started towards the kitchen. His tone made her stop in her tracks and look at him.

"Yes, we did. Why do you ask?"

Johnny used the remote to run the volume up a little on the television before looking directly at his mother. "I was just wondering, since you said you were going out with Ursula. Imagine my concern when Ursula called an hour after you left, asking if Freddy was here. Imagine her surprise when I asked her if I could talk to you for a moment, and she had no idea why I thought you were at her house."

Pamela knew it was a risk, using one of her friends as a cover story. Now she had to face up to the jury, she realized. She dropped into one of the sofa chairs and looked at her son.

"I didn't see Ursula tonight," she started.

"Obviously!" Johnny barked. "You were out with some guy, weren't you?"

Pamela was again at a loss for words. She wanted to lie to her son, to tell him it had been an innocent mistake, that she had been out with another friend. Unfortunately, she couldn't think of anything. Her mind didn't work like that, spontaneously. Even as she tried to think through a reply, she felt her head nod.

"Who is he?" Johnny demanded, leaning forward but lowering his voice. "Is it someone you work with? Someone I might know? Someone Dad might know?"

"Johnny, listen, I know I'm wrong here, but it's not what you think. I'm not looking to leave you and your dad. I just need something he can't give me anymore, and it's nothing more than that." Pamela waited for her son to reply. Instead, he shook his head and turned the television off.

"I just wish you had talked with me about this, before you started anything," Johnny told her as he got up from the couch. He picked up the bottle of root beer he'd been drinking and started to walk away. "You might have been surprised. Maybe I would have understood. Maybe I could have given you some advice. Maybe I could have set you up. Who knows?"

Before Pamela could inquire into what her son had meant by "set you up", he was through the kitchen and down the basement stairs. Down there it was his realm, and after graduating from high school Johnny had moved from his upstairs bedroom into the basement. He'd done all the work in making it a livable space, turning much of the area not dedicated to the laundry room or furnace room into his own apartment. Except for the need to use the upstairs bathroom or kitchen, Johnny could pretty much stay in the basement if he chose to.

Pamela waited a few minutes before heading to her own bedroom, turning out the lights as she went. George was asleep and gently snoring in the big bed they had shared for much of their marriage. His wheel chair sat bed-side. Pamela felt a wave of guilt wash through her again, as it always did when she returned home following a night with Freddy. This time, however, it was deeper. Her chest hurt, but she realized that it wasn't because she had hurt her husband. It was because she had hurt her son.

Pamela lay in bed, tossing and turning, well into the morning hours. She couldn't sleep. So much worry ran through her mind. Finally, she had to get up and go into the living room so not to continue to disturb her husband. He had his weekly physical therapy appointment in the morning and needed his sleep, she knew. She curled up on the big sofa and pulled the comforter over her. Exhausted, she quickly fell asleep.

The next day, Thursday, was a half-day for the high school, leading into the 4-day Memorial Day weekend. School was dismissed at 1:20 in the afternoon, after a 45-minute presentation in the gym to the sports teams for the school year. There was only two weeks left until the school year was completed and summer break began. Pamela had signed up, as she nearly always did, to work through the summer, three days a week, with students needing to do added work to keep up with their classes. Although Friday was an off-day for the students, Pamela and those others who would be working through the summer would be in the building going over their itinerary for the summer.

Pamela stopped at the grocery on her way home to pick up some things for dinner that night. She had tried to put out of her mind the confrontations with her son from the night before, and the accusations he had made. She fought to find a way to assure Johnny that she wasn't looking to find a replacement for his father, even though she was in fact having an affair with Freddy Killibrew. On top of all of that, she had begun to wonder if there was any way she could initiate any sort of sexual relationship with Johnny at all, knowing that he had those sorts of thoughts about her, at least if what Freddy had told her was true. Not for the first time, Pamela wondered if Freddy was trying to mess with her head.

Once home, after briefly stopping in the kitchen to put away the groceries, Pamela checked on her husband. She found him asleep, snoring in his big recliner in the back den. He had been watching reruns of "Charmed", one of his favorite shows, and an episode continued to play on the big-screen TV. She thought about turning the set off, but decided that her husband was probably being soothed by the sounds of Rose McGowan, Alyssa Milano, and Holly Marie Combs.

Pamela let her husband be and pulled the door closed gently. She started to turn up the hallway, towards her bedroom, but instead decided to head into the kitchen. She wanted a Pepsi and found a cold one in the refrigerator. It was the last of a case she had just purchased the day before. She suspected Johnny of snatching several to stock his own little refrigerator in his basement room. She gulped down a refreshing swallow of soda, and then though about checking on her son. His car was out front, so she knew he was home.

Pamela found her son stretched out in the corner of the second-hand sofa he had bought at the flea market some time back. It was a corner sectional, with a recliner built into one end. The fabric was a sickly lettuce green, and had several stains across its "L" shaped expanse. For Johnny, the big sofa doubled as his bed, and as Pamela made her way across the hard floor, her shoe heels clicked on the bare concrete. A throw rug lay in the corner of the sofa, the only floor covering in the basement. Johnny had said he wanted to carpet the floor, but had yet to earn enough money to do it. Thus, the basement was always a bit cool for her taste.

The second-hand television sat on a work bench that Johnny and a friend had dragged into the basement some time back. Two chest of drawers flanked the bench, with two different video game consoles and several game discs scattered across the tops. A card table with four chairs around it completed the furnishings of Johnny's basement bedroom. Overhead florescent light fixtures provided most of the light usually, though they were off at the moment and only the small stand-alone lamp in the corner behind the sectional was on, casting shadows across the floor.

Johnny was watching a movie, and a girl's scream was cut off as her throat was slit open by a masked stranger. Typical slasher movie, Pamela thought as she came int her son's sanctuary.

"How was your day, Johnny?" Pamela asked as she approached her son. She paused long enough to lean over and pull open the small refrigerator that stood at the end of the sofa. Sure enough, he had seven Pepsis inside, along with half a six-pack of his father's beers, some cheese dip in a jar, and a bag of left-over tacos. He'd probably warm them up for dinner in the small microwave oven that sat atop the refrigerator, Pamela guessed.

"Good enough, I guess," her son responded as he looked at her nibbing into his refrigerator. "I don't know if I want to return in the fall."

Pamela took a seat near him, in the short side of the sofa. "Why not? Aren't you enjoying school?"

He aimed the remote towards the television and turned the channel to Sports Center. "I don't know anymore," he replied after a pull on the cigarette he held. He blew out the smoke and looked at his mother. "I don't know what I want out of life right now, and I don't want to get all tied up going one direction just to find I want to go another."

Pamela reached to the coffee table situated centrally on the throw rug and retrieved her son's pack of Marlboro's. She pulled one out, put it in her mouth, and lit it. She sucked in a deep lungful of smoke, held it, and then blew it out again.

"So, when did you start smoking again?" Johnny asked her.

Pamela looked at him before replying, "Since you've run my stress levels up. I'm back on my high blood pressure pills as well."

"What did I do? You're the one fucking around behind dad's back," Johnny accused.

"Johnny! Please. Your father's in the den, right above us," she begged.

"He can't hear anything," Johnny laughed. "He used a shot of Yukon Jack to wash down his pain pills, and another to wash the taste out of his mouth."

"Where did he get Yukon Jack from?" Pamela asked, concerned. She had tried to keep hard alcohol away from her husband since he began taking so many pain pills of late.

"Don Hoyt," Johnny told her. Don was a History instructor at Regal Bay High School, a colleague of Pamela's. Don and her husband George had been in the same graduating class at Regal Bay, some thirty years before. Pamela knew that Don had long ago had a thing for her. Now he seemed to only have a thing for under-aged blondes.

"Why would Don bring your father whisky?" she asked.

"Maybe as a penance, since he is fucking you, am I right?" Johnny snidely replied.

"No, Johnny, I am not fucking Don Hoyt!" she responded angrily. "I don't appreciate your accusing me of fucking every guy you think I know. It won't do you, me, or your father any good."

"Then who the hell are you fucking around with?" Johnny snarled. "And if you don't want to tell me, then get the hell out of my room!"

Pamela stood up and was about to throw her near-empty can at her son when she realized that he had not been told by Freddy anything about their affair. And in that case, it was quite possible that Johnny didn't want to sleep with his own mother. And yet, as she glared down at her son, who returned it with as much anger as she felt, she realized that her son was now just as she had remembered her husband, his father, at that fiery age.

Before she realized what she was saying, she told him, "I'm sleeping with Freddy Killibrew, if you must know."

Johnny was shocked, and it showed on his face. "Freddy! Freddy Killibrew! You've got to be fucking shitting me!" Johnny laughed.

"It's true," she replied, returning to sit beside him. She took a deep breath in, and then began her confession. "I placed an ad on a singles sight. I was looking for something, I don't know, something exciting in my life. It turns out it was Freddy who responded to it. We met in a motel room. We talked. We had sex. End of story."

"I can't believe it," Johnny said, shaking his head. "Do you know that he's had a thing for you forever, since high school?"

"He told me, after," she nodded. She picked up a second cigarette and lit it. Her nerves were rattled, and yet she felt much more relaxed about the whole thing, now having told her son.

"I still can't believe it," Johnny laughed. "That guy, I tell you, Mom. He has a thing for old women."

Pamela agreed. "He told me that he wants to have sex with his mother. That's why he came to me, in a round-about way, I guess."

Johnny grinned and nodded. "Oh, yeah. He has for a long time. He sneaks peaks at her all the time. He's even started taking pictures of her, and I think he's even got a camera set up in her room. Or so one of my friends tells me."

Johnny crushed out his cigarette and turned to look at his mother. "But instead, he's had you, my mother." Johnny went to the refrigerator and pulled out a cold beer. "Do you want one?" he asked, and handed her one before she could reply. They both popped open their cans and took sips before he asked, "Did you tell Ursula?"

"That I've been sleeping with Freddy?" she asked back.

Johnny laughed, "No, silly! That you know that he's been wanting to fuck her!"

"I wish you wouldn't say it like that, Johnny," Pamela told him. "It's not real nice."

"Fuck! Have sex with! Make love to! What does it matter how I say it? You are fucking my friend, who wants to fuck his own mother. That just about sums it up, doesn't it?"

Pamela held her son's eyes with hers for a lingering moment, and then in a softer, gentle voice asked her son, "Do you feel the same way about me, Johnny?"

Johnny looked stunned that she had just asked that of him. "Why do you ask?" he replied.

"Freddy said that you did, one time, after we had finished. That's all." Pamela quickly gulped down most of her beer before saying, "It's alright. I'm sorry I asked. He was probably just messing with me, to make me feel better, since he wants his own mom that way."

Pamela started to rise, but Johnny reached out and took her arm in his hand. She settled back and looked at her son. He was looking very serious now. "What if I do?" he finally asked. "What would you do? What would you say, if I told you that I want to make love to you, my own mother, just like Freddy does, and some of my other friends do?"

"Oh, Johnny," she moaned. "I don't know what I'd do. What would I do? What could I do? I love you, as much as your father, maybe even more. I don't love Freddy. I love you, Johnny." Before she knew it, she and Johnny were embracing, their lips touching as they fell into a deepening kiss.

Their kiss finally broke and Johnny leaned back into the corner of the sofa. He was grinning up at he, and Pamela felt something exciting building within her chest. Something never before felt. She placed her hand on her son's denim-covered thigh and said, "I don't know if this should happen, Johnny. I don't know why I want this to happen. I love your father, very much. He's a very good man. He's just been through so much, and with this injury, he can't love me anymore, not like he used to."

"I know, Mom," Johnny said. His eyes went to her chest then, the deep plunge of her dress giving him a view of her amble cleavage, held in place by a white bra. Her hand stroked up, and then down his thigh, seemingly inching closer to his crotch with every stroke. He felt the grin on his face, wanting to be more serious, and yet feeling as giddy as a teen-ager. Not that he was much older than that. He was only twenty, after all.

Pamela reached up and gently pulled her son's chin towards her. Their eyes met and she said, "If we do this, we must keep it between ourselves. Is that understood? You father can never know or even suspect a thing. And I don't want you running around bragging to all of your friends, either!"

Johnny looked deeper into her eyes then, and she saw a change in them, at how he was seeing her. She wasn't his mother, not in that moment. She was something new, and exciting. She let her hand slip higher, until she felt the bulge of his manhood beneath her hand, encased in the denim of his jeans.

"Will you tell Freddy?" Johnny asked. "Will you stop seeing him?"

"If that's what you want, I will," she replied.

"We'll see," was his, and then he pulled her face to his, and then his mouth to hers, and kissed his mother deeply once again. As they kissed, she began to unfasten his jeans, and a moment later, she sighed as her hand wrapped around her son's growing member. She began to pull and tug, and slowly worked herself into a steady rhythm, jacking her son's cock to full life within seconds.

"That feels good, Mom," Johnny sighed into her mouth.

"I'm glad you like it," she replied. She kissed him again, and then pulled back. She was smiling when she asked, "Would you like to play with my tits?"

"Oh, hell yes!" Johnny gasped, and quickly reached into the top of her dress to pull her heavy breasts up and out. He took in the sight of her dark areola and the buds of her nipples. Her tits were soft in his hands and he began to squeeze them.