The Culmination

Hold on: was I being told off by my mom's boss? Was he actually telling me how to behave? This guy who was, technically, nothing to me? Was a strange white man telling me how I should live my life? Yes, oh yes he was.

And I agreed with him. "Yes, sir."

He patted me on the shoulder. "Good, you're a good kid."

I didn't feel weak for allowing him to speak to me like that... Okay I felt a little weak, but I didn't think he did anything wrong: he was just looking out for my mom.

I was never much of an egotist, so I really didn't mind him talking down to me, not at all. I saw that his intentions were pure and that he was doing what he felt was right, which was to take the father figure role. Oh, that felt weird, thinking of this guy as my new dad. Weirder still is that I actually kinda felt... good. Not in a sexual way, but, like, that this felt right. That he was in the right and him telling me to settle down and be a good boy was... right.

"I'm here for you as well, Son. Any problems, issues, anything, you can come to me."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

Wow, did he just become my dad?

"Good." He stood up. "Kitchen is all yours, take any snacks you want, watch TV and relax in here. Okay?"

"Yes, sir."

He smiled. "Good."

Trevor turned and left the room... going up the stairs.

My mind was spinning. I couldn't figure out what was going on. I needed something to centre me, to put me in the right state of mind. Corrie. I turned the TV on and watched Coronation Street.

It was only midway during the show that an almighty thud hit me across the face: Mom was upstairs with Trevor... and I'd not heard a peep from them in 15 minutes.

Oh, I was letting my thoughts get the better of me. I figured she was chatting with him, and I'd be home before one of those Channel 4 comedy shows started. I like those. Always funny.

I looked at my watch after Corrie had ended: 9:00pm. Okay, 30 minutes, must be a long conversation, possibly about how nice his bathroom is and how she'd like to remodel. Must be giving her the name of a good builder. Now they must be talking about how much it cost him to put in that nice floor.

All right, 9:15pm, okay, long conversation they must be having. Gosh, how big a house is this? I don't even hear footsteps. They must be going into deeper topics. Okay, I'll give them an extra 45 minutes. She's a chatter. She likes to chat.

10:00pm and I'm seeing one of the Carrs on the screen. Okay, didn't think I'd be here for this long. All righty. Think I'll wait till commercial for a snack break, yeah. Seeing how he's an upper middle-class English guy, I assume he has gourmet snacks. Ridged Walkers, here we go!

I got up during the commercial break, feet bare, dress shirt unbuttoned, vest showing, pants hanging loose. I went into his kitchen area and was amazed at the size of it. It was like a regular person's living room. Why did he need so many cooking appliances? A giant oven? For who? Him. Dude, buy a condo. I liked his tiles though. Black and white. Meshing. Like my brown mom and her white boss. It's nice that they're so close and able to have such long and deep conversations. How nice is it that they come from different parts of the world and yet they've become such good friends? It's inspirational, truly.

I looked in Trevor's cupboards. Sadly, no Ridged Walkers. Instead lots of Smoky BBQ crisps. I opened one, tried one, liked it, and kept it. I then looked in his giant fridge for a drink. I expected beer. Many beer cans, stacks of them. Surprisingly, I didn't find any beer. Just water in glass bottles and expensive orange juice. I picked up a small round glass bottle of water and took it back to the living room. As I sat, I enjoyed the quietness of the neighbourhood. All I could hear was passing cars and the TV. I then opened the water bottle. It sparkled.

10:30pm and people on TV are starting to swear more frequently. What was the holdup? I came in at 8:20pm and had been sitting there for over 2 hours. How long can two people chat? It must be one of those conversations that looks to be winding down and then somehow starts back up again. I saw that happen, yeah, Mom does that all the time. I can't. My conversations last around 5 minutes. I'm a little too weird, too un-mainstream, to have regular-people convos. 'Oh, did you watch Chelsea last night?' No, I didn't, I was too busy jerking myself off to the latest Brooke Burke bikini candids. Want to discuss that? Didn't think so. I also like cats and all the boys at school like Rottweilers. Dicks.

So 10:44pm and I got a problem. I drank too much of that sparkly drink. I got on a binge and went through four of those bad boys. Damn, rich people cornered the market on sparkly water. All we get is flat water. Well, anyway, I needed to go. I went out the room and thought Trevor was swanky enough for a downstairs bathroom. He wasn't. That only left me with one option: upstairs. Groan, I didn't want to listen in on their conversation. What if Mom was getting 'emotional'? What if she was talking about her 'real' feelings? I did not want to hear my mom's human problems! But nature was calling and I really didn't want to go in this guy's backyard. Not in this neighbourhood. I can just picture it, an old lady telling him the details: 'Oh, Trevor, did you hear? Some A-rab kid was urinating in your garden. Oh it's getting worse isn't it?' No thanks. I wasn't going to give Trevor any bad press.

I looked up the staircase and felt the oddest sensation in my chest: this weird tightness. Not suffocating, more like a gentle palm on the inside of my chest. I wondered what this was. I got my answer, a little voice in my head whispering it to me.

I scoffed. "Yeah, right," I said to myself.

It whispered it again.

"No, don't be stupid."

And again.

"Okay, seriously, we joke, yeah, but that's my mom. Enough, serious."

It went silent. I got my hand on the barrister and for some reason my body was a little shaky. Seriously, this guy, this voice, it'd been pestering me the whole night. What it was saying, sheesh, I ignored it and carried on with my business. The things the mind creates, my lord, you can't listen to everything it tells you.

I got up to the middle of the staircase and paused when I heard something.

"Uhh!"

Female, soft, like someone in some sort of physical activity. Hmm. Oh right, the TV. I must've left the TV on –

No. I always turn the TV off whenever I leave a room.

I listened in again. I heard nothing. It must've been a cat. Stupid me. I shook my head and went up the stairs. Silly me, making things up in my head.

When I got closer I saw the looming second floor of the house. The upstairs was nice, bathroom on the left, followed by a row of bedrooms and, oh, look at that, right at the end of the hall was another set of stairs. He must have a loft. What a rich guy. How did he buy this place? Looks to be way too large for a single man. The upkeep must be expensive. Perhaps he brought it early and now he's sitting on it. In this market? Oh, he's making a risk –

I had no idea what I was talking about. I was just trying to block that disturbing 'Uhh' from my mind. Nevertheless, I went on up the stairs, getting to the top and –

"Uhh!"

This time harder, still feminine, but with more umph behind it. Huh... someone must've been pulling some heavy boxes around. Must be his neighbours.

It was at this point that I noticed my mom was not around. I looked at the doors, looked in the nearby bathroom, looked ahead and saw that I was pretty much alone. I shrugged. I went into the lavatory, cleaned my hands and thought about which cat I liked best (striped).

I went out and looked in the hallway again. Where were my mom and Trevor? Oh, silly question. The answer was obvious: a lounge room. Trevor must have a lounge room. You know, a lounge room: a room in which people sit and chat. I couldn't hear them; then again what was my hearing? I had human hearing. I can't hear everything. So now what had it been? Over 2 hours of chat? Not too long to wait now. I guess I need to sit downstairs and wait it out till they're done. Guess Trevor will drop us home after this, drop us off like the nice man that he is. Yes, sir, I call him 'sir' because he's such a nice guy –

"Oh god."

And my mom calls him 'God' because he's just so holy... fuck.

That was her. I couldn't deny it anymore. That was Mom saying 'Oh god' – and not in an 'Oh, that god, he's such a so-and-so' way but in an 'Oh god you're fucking me so good' way.

Oh look at me jumping to conclusions. Look, to settle it with me and my mind, I'll go over to where the bedrooms are and I'll kneel down and listen. So I walked a few steps, got on my knees...

And this is the way my world changed forever.

"Oh god! Oh god! Oh god!" said Mom. All ambiguity was gone when I heard bedsprings squeak, a bed frame hit the wall, and my mom's ragged breath.

My mom was having sex. My Indian mom was having sex. Like real, real sex. She was moaning like the girls in the porno movies. My mom was in a porno movie. My mom is in a porno movie. My mom is having actual sex. Penis in her vagina – or maybe somewhere else.

I was on my knees, shaking, trembling. Mom was having sex – but with whom? Well, unless a secret lover lived in this house, my money was on the big strapping white man my mom was drooling all over. Oh, that just tightened me up, the thought that my Indian mom was having sex with that large white man. That big white man. Him putting his big white... thing inside my Indian mother! Oh my, oh my god!

I could hear it clear as day – and if I needed more vividness, I heard something I'd heard just the week before, when I was watching a porno: I heard his hand smack my mother's butt. My mother's butt. My Indian mother's butt. I never thought about her Indian butt being smacked by big white hands – and whoa, I got an erection and I'm tickling it already. Force of habit, it's how I am most of the time, rubbing myself when I got something brewing. But this was different. This was my mom we're talking about. What the fuck am I doing? My Indian mother was having sex, sex, my mother was doing what women in porno movies do, my mom I've known all my life as a honourable and proud woman was doing the prime act of female submission and doing it with gusto as evidenced by her moans to the lord. God: someone she prays to every day – maybe also for this!? Did she want it? Did she want the big white cock? Why was I assuming it was big? Oh it was big: she was married to my 5'3 Indian dad and I'm hung like a hamster. Get real: he was big even if he was average by his white man standards. But look at him: large, in charge, oh and I saw his bulge: he's big. No doubt about it, my Indian mom was getting big white cock. Willingly.

Why? Was it because she just wanted his big white cock? No, come on, she wasn't an animal. My Indian mother would have a reason for doing such a thing. Think, think – got it: her raise. Of course! This was her thank you to him! She was thanking him with – oh that got me unzipping my trousers and jerking myself full-on.

Yes, I admit it: the idea of my Indian mother 'thanking' her strong white male boss with sex was an immense turn-on. An immense turn-on. To think she'd do that made me so very hard – not for her per se, but her actions, her doings, oh it's all so –

"Ugh!" That was Trevor. He groaned a manly groan. Shuffling was heard and then the bed springs went faster and the ramming got harder. Trevor must've been stuffing his white cock even deeper into my mom. Awesome. Hold on: why was I so happy? Aren't sons supposed to be weirded out or even angry when their mom is having sex with a guy? Pssh, I ain't no Oedipus: I loved that my hot mom was fucking a nice guy (which, granted doesn't make me perfectly normal). I jerked on.

Okay: so I was jerking off to my mom. But so what? I wasn't sniffing her panties or trying to do some retarded secret peeks of her. I didn't want to bang my mom. Not in the least. I was jerking off to my Indian mom getting it good and proper from her large white boss. I could think of no one better to fuck and own my sexy mom. He deserved her.

Three minutes into my tactful jerking off, I looked up at the door. Wooden, glossy white sheen, golden handle. Nice. Nice. Old Victorian build I'd say. Modernized, of course. Nice. Hmm. What's this I see? On the right side of the door, I see some light coming out of it. I straightened up and looked to see what it was.

A keyhole.

No, it couldn't be. No one had classic keyholes anymore. Actual holes in which keys fit. Oh, wait, I did, all over my house, actually. But this was one of those big-ass keyholes, the ones people peeked through.

And that's what I did without even thinking about it. I got on my knees, dick in hand, one eye closed and the other open.

I had my breath ripped out of my throat.

Naked giant white man on top of my naked Indian mother. I saw it and it felt like I was watching a dream, yet I also knew it was real. Real and unreal both at once.

I saw the south of the bed. Him on top, me looking at his big hairy white ass, his massive white cock inside my mother's Indian vagina, my mom's feet in the air as he thrust into her.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" Mom moaned.

My mother was naked. How big this was cannot be put into words. Naked as in no clothes. No clothes at all. Naked as in physically and metaphorically. Naked as in bare, free, real, alive. This was her, and this was not my mom. This was Priyanka Arora: Trevor's Indian Bitch.

Bitch is right. Hey, I love my mom; I'm not saying it in a resentful way. I'm stating it as a fact. She was his bitch, pure and simple. Taking his cock, having it put in her and moaning like a bitch. Another way to put it is to say that my mom was not being a 'mom'. She was being used as a woman, a submissive woman, a woman under the control of a man. A dirty woman. A moaning woman. A bitch. My Indian mom was being a strong white man's bitch.

Did I mention I loved it?

And better was to come. Trevor turned around, allowed Mom to get on top (stress the word 'allowed') and got her riding his big, massive, throbbing 8-inch white cock.

I felt my balls tighten when I saw my mom's bare smooth brown naked back and ass. I was looking at my mother's wonderful bum. I, her son, was looking at her bare butt. So wrong... yet so very hot. Then I saw Trevor's big white hands float over my mom's juicy bare brown butt. He clasped his hands down hard, and I saw him feel, grope and slap my Indian mom's ass.

The big white man groping my Indian mom's buttocks. It was an action which took only a second, yet one which will stay with me for a lifetime.

What I see when I look back on that scene is all the amazing details: Trevor's large white body, naked, straightened out, his large feet reaching the end of the bed, his hands on her butt and his big white cock inside her, his big white balls ever present and full. I remember Mom: her bare naked body exposed to me, as gorgeous as I'd imagined, her skin flawless, gorgeous, she more beautiful without clothing. I remember her grinding on that big white cock, moaning over the superior size. And Trevor was just as enthralled as she was. I remember how he gripped her juicy brown butt, how he held and slapped it with due force; gentle yet powerful, like he was sending her a message: he was reminding her that she was his woman and this was his power.

Mom was sweaty. I could see how shiny her back had gotten. Her bare, long, sweaty back. Oh she loved it, loved riding her strong white boss. I could tell she loved it: I could feel her emotion, could feel her passion. It was hot, so hot it was making me sweat. She was loving it, I could tell – I could hear it. Though it was timid, I swore I heard a playful giggle come from her. I couldn't confirm it, but I could tell how happy she was. Mom was not the same woman when she was with him. I barely recognized this woman. Occasionally, I had to remind myself that this woman was my mother. Yet how could she have been my mother? She was nothing like her. My mother was good-natured, kind, generous and elegant. This woman too was elegant, yet had traits my mother lacked: style, rhythm, poise, confidence. This woman was not at all motherly, that all-important trait having been replaced by one of womanhood's more appealing characteristics: sex appeal. This woman was one with her inner self, flowing and gliding with effortless ease.

I saw Trevor smile at my mom; that smile they both shared. It was wonderful. The defining image for me was when I looked at my mother and noticed her beautiful, flowing, jet-black signature Indian hair. Her hair was bouncing in tune to her rhythmic movements. And as I watched her beautiful hair, I saw her head go down, towards Trevor's face.

And then she kissed him.

I cummed.

I looked away after I'd finished. I took a second to let the orgasm take effect, and then, without question, I knew what I had to do next.

Get away from the bedroom.

Not because I was disgusted, oh no, not at all. What I saw was stunningly beautiful. I saw my Indian mother being her true self, being a proud and happy woman. And I saw Trevor being a real man: good, strong, proud, on top and in charge of his house. The dynamic was perfect: she was a sublimely feminine woman that wanted a strong man to protect her; He was a strong man that wanted to protect and care for this woman. The sex was his reward for being himself and something they both enjoyed and felt supremely connected by. I didn't see a porno: I saw a real human moment. A real human moment shared by two people who love each other very much.

The reason I had to look away was because it was wrong of me to watch. What I saw was a deeply intimate moment between two people and something no third party should ever watch. Being her son made it worse, as I should not have seen her like that. It was wrong of me to peek. Still, I'm glad I did it.

I wouldn't do it again though. I'm a good boy. Good boys don't break the rules... often. Well, anyway, I snuck downstairs, got back on the couch... and jerked it eight times to just the memories alone.

Eventually it got dark, 3am, and Women's Beach Volleyball was on. I got out another three rounds and then nature took its course and sent me to sleep.

*

Next morning, I woke up groggy and confused. I wondered if everything I'd just heard and seen was a dream. My answer came pretty quickly when I found myself on Trevor's couch. Yep, it happened – my pants confirmed it.

I sat up and rewound everything that had happened. I wondered why I liked this whole setup. The truth: it was because my Indian mom was having sex with her strong white boss. White man, Indian woman. Yes, yes, yes, I liked it, I liked it a lot. He had a big white cock and my Indian mother took it and loved it. Furthermore, because they were now having sex, everything about what made him White English and her Indian proved to be a turn-on: she spoke with an Indian accent, he spoke with an English one; she wore sari dresses, he wore suits; she eats curry... and so does he. Okay, I might have gone a little overboard – but it was so frigging hot! My Indian mom had gone white, big and white. And so had I! I was the son of an Indian woman who had a white boyfriend. I'm so metro! This is so hot, yeah, his white hands on her brown butt, yeah, yeah.

But that's not all. What really tied it all together was that they really liked each other. Really liked each other. I might have slipped and said the 'L' word. Well, I felt it between them and I couldn't deny what I saw. She 'L' him and he 'L' her. That made me feel good, good for both of them.

"Son." A shirtless and boxers-clad Trevor came into the living room. "What's going on? Just woke up?"