Mom Taes Her Meds and Her Son

My wife had been gang-fucked by my son and his friends last night.

I woke up on the couch in the game room, where I'd passed out at the late hour that I got home.

Saturday was Steph's volunteer day -- she worked the reception desk at an animal shelter in the morning, and then spent two hours at a nearby city's library. By the time I woke up, she was already gone. "Wow, dodged THAT bullet," I said to myself. Better brace for the shitstorm, though, when she gets home.

Strangely enough, though, everything went smoothly. I went into work for a couple hours, came home about 5 or 6 p.m., and she had dinner ready for the two of us. Todd, she said, was staying over at Brian's house tonight. No doubt they were going to watch their video and pour over the lurid pictures they'd shot on their phones the night before.

Sunday, Monday and then Tuesday creeped into normalcy and came and went. We had a normal Christmas and New Year's, with Steph and I going to one of my co-worker's parties and Todd spending the four-day weekend in Mexico with Brian and his parents (And yes, I made sure both parents would be there, and talked to all of them on Dec. 31 from Cancun, so I knew things were legit on that end).

I was beginning to think those couple of bizarre days were just isolate incidents -- two incredible sexual outings that ended with everyone getting their lustful gangbang fill, and my wife none the worse for wear, and none the wiser, either.

Pretty soon I had a wrestling tourney to cover in San Antonio, as one of the Houston area's best grapplers was facing the top wrestler in the nation from a San Antonio school. Steph said "Sure!" when I invited her. Why not go to San Antonio, a tourist town, when it was 68 degrees on the second weekend in January?

We got there and checked in to our hotel. Steph wanted to see the brand new indoor pool at the Drury Plaza. I told her I'd call her from the wrestling venue. Trevor Oakdell was in the 152-weight class, so I knew I wouldn't be gone long.

When I got to the arena, I found out the meet had been expanded to a quad, four teams instead of the dual meet I thought I was going to be covering. Oakdell had already wrestled a match against an Austin school opponent, so I went to check the schedule. Quad meets are a scheduling nightmare. I found out that The Woodlands (our hometown school) had only squared off in three of their 14 matches thus far, and the match everyone had come to see -- Oakdell vs. The Woodland's Daniel Martin -- wasn't up for another hour or so.

Time to call Steph, I said, as I walked to the concession area for a hot dog and Coke. It was there that I ran into Martin's father in line. We chatted a bit, and I found out we'd both stayed at the Drury Plaza downtown that night. He said they were heading back right after the match, as Dan had some college visitation info to work through on Sunday. I told him we were going to stay Saturday night and take in some of the Riverwalk sights and Mexican food joints before going back. He gathered up his food and we shook hands as he headed off to the stands.

About 30 seconds later I felt a hand on my shoulder. I thought Mr. Martin had forgot to say something when I turned around -- it was Anthony and Marvin ("Dude Guy") right behind me!

"Hey Mr. C.," Anthony said. "You here covering the tournament?" I totally forgot that Anthony's little brother, Robert, was wrestling in the 126-weight class. "Oh, yeah, here to see how Martin does against Oakdell," I said. I saw how the "Dude Guy" was staring at me the whole time I talked with Anthony.

"Heard you tell Mr. Martin that you are staying at the Drury Plaza? So are WE! I think everybody from The Woods is," he said, referring to The Woodlands as "The Woods," which everyone from that area does.

"Yep. Steph and I checked in about 10 p.m. last night," I said. The words had slipped out of my mouth before I realized that the last time they had seen Steph, they were fucking her brains out.

Then Dude broke his silence. "Is your wife here, Mr. C?" I paused and then said, "No, she's at the hotel, waiting for me to get back. This crazy quad schedule has wrestlers on all four mats, and it never seems like anyone gets anything done."

Anthony said his brother, Robert, had already wrestled but lost. I grabbed my dog, chips and Coke and told them I needed to head back to my table. "See you later, Mr. C.," Anthony said.

As I walked over to get napkins, a straw, and mustard and ketchup for my dog, I watched Anthony and "Dude" get out of line and head for the front doors. They were leaving. Anthony was on the phone. About 30 seconds later I saw his brother walk by me, gym bag over his shoulder and beside his mom, who fortunately didn't see me (she's a real bitch; I hate to even see her, let alone talk to her).

The Grimaldi's were probably headed home. Good thing, I thought. I don't want to run into Crabby -- er, ah, Cathy -- and ruin our weekend on the Riverwalk, I thought.

About an hour later, Oakdell was tossing and dragging Dan Martin around mat no. 1, using him like a rag doll to score points at will. The kid was as talented as we'd heard, and I felt sorry for Mr. Martin sitting over there, having to watch his son get destroyed. I went down and interviewed the state champ after the match, and got words with The Woods coach on Martin's misfortune. I was returning to my laptop to start my article and ship it in, when Steph called.

"Hey hon," she said. "You on your way?"

"Yeah, I'll be there in about an hour, maybe two."

"Guess who's here?" she queried. "Anthony. Grimaldi. From down the street. Yeah, did you see his brother play today? I guess he didn't so good."

My wife has never been "keen" on sports terminology, even though it's my living. "I'm going to get this story filed, find a great Wi-Fi source here, then come back."

"OK. Take your time. I'm going down to the pool. Anthony said his mom might be down there," Steph said.

I froze. My mind was doing flips, thinking nothing but bad things could happen. But if Crabby Grimaldi was going to be there, nothing would happen. She kills the mood anywhere just by walking into the room. If she's down there, Steph will talk her ear off, and I'll be back before they know it.

I got my interviews played back, rapped out my story on the laptop and packed up to leave. I tried to call Steph, but it went right to her Voicemail. "Maybe Crabby G. is talking HER ears off," I chuckled.

I wouldn't want to see that woman in a bathing suit; she must weigh about 250 if she weighs a pound, and that's the God's honest truth. I told Steph's Voicemail that I was headed to the car, and I'd be there in about 20-25 minutes.

I remembered that I needed a results sheet, so I ran over to the official scorer's table. Carla, The Woodlands' athletic director's assistant, walked me to a nearby trainer's room, which was acting as "sports desk central." I did not realize how much media this Oakdell kid was drawing.

While there, I ran into Alan Little, who had worked the sports copy desk with me "back in the day" at the Austin American-Statesman. We chatted about the match, about Oakdell, and about "the old times" on the Statesman c-desk.

I told him I needed to get going. We swapped phone numbers, in case he's ever in the Houston area or if I am ever in Bulverde, whatever the hell that is. On the way to the car I tried to call Steph, and this time she picked up after the second ring.

"Hey hon, I'm just about done here," I said. There was this brief silence on the other end -- I thought my phone had cut out. "Steph, are --"

"Yeah, I'm right here hon." She said. "Are you ... on your way? Right now?"

"Yes, but it'll probably be another half-hour before I get there. This place is clear up in the 'burbs from the downtown Drury."

"Just ... hurry ...hurry ... will you," she said. "I need something in my stomach."

"OK, I'm on my way. I wanna go down to one of those Riverwalk restaurants and get me a big, fat juicy steak."

"Ohhhhhhhhh," Steph said. "Oh, that sounds so-o-o-o-o-o good. But hurry ... hu-r-r-r-r-r-r-ry," she said, ending the call.

When I walked out to my car, it was starting to spit rain. I stood fumbling for my keys in my pocket when I glanced down and -- I saw my flat right front tire. DAMMIT. I wasn't going to change it in the rain, so I climbed in, called AAA, gave them the arena address, and waited for their announced 45-minute arrival.

I called Steph's cellphone to tell her I'd be a little later than expected, but it rang to Voicemail. I left another message and sat ... and sat ... and sat. Finally, with the rain now pummeling my windshield, the AAA guy showed up. It was 4:45 p.m. -- nearly two hours after Oakdell had pounded Martin, and over an hour since I last talked to Steph.

The AAA guy got my flat tire off and the spare tire mounted in no time. I paid him, tipped him well for working in the rain, and tried to call Steph again. Still to Voicemail. I was beginning to get worried; I hope she'd walked down to the Drury café to get a quick snack in order to take her meds. She doesn't do well on an empty stomach.

I pulled up to the Drury's valet parking about 5:30, having to go slow through town on that donut spare tire out of my trunk. As I was entering the lobby, I ran into ... Crabby. "Shit," I thought. "Maybe she didn't see --"

"Oh YOU-WHOO!!THERE you are!" Crabby bellowed, "Anthony said he'd seen you here today." Her "you-whoos" were like fingernails on a chalkboard. She sashayed her body on over, gave me one of her huge, rib-shattering and internal-organ-crushing hugs, and said she was glad to see me.

We shared a few sentences of totally meaningless gibberish, and then Mr. Grimaldi called through the open sliding doors, "Come on, Kat, we're leaving!" ('Kat,' I thought ... how can he get away with calling her Kat? Didn't he mean Hippo?)

"Well, must go. Toodles. And tell your precious Stephanie that I said hi, and that I'm sorry I missed her," Crabby said as she turned and left.

Whew. I breathed a deep sigh of relief as I waved at Mr. and Mrs. Grimaldi and Robert as they pulled away from the valet park. Whew, again. A minute spent with her is about 55 seconds longer than needed.

I turned and headed to the elevator, my horrible day now in the books. I carded into the elevator, headed to the 15th floor, and -- wait. Wait a second, I thought, as I looked at my reflection in the elevator door.

What did Crabby just say? "I'm sorry I missed her ..." I thought Steph said that ... I thought Steph said that Crabby ... was going to be at the pool. And ... ohhhh shit, I saw Robert in that car -- but not Anthony. Where was ... Anthony?

That elevator could not get me to the 15th floor fast enough. I looked at myself in that mirrored elevator door. I saw my reflection. All the blood seemed to have drained from my face. It was almost like I was a dizzy ghost, staring back at myself.

When the elevator dinged and the door slid open, I turned and DASHED down that hallway, my laptop case flapping and banging against my leg. Our room 1532, was at the far end on the left. I dropped the key card -- "DAMMIT" -- picked it up, then keyed into the room. I threw my stuff on the king bed and looked around. Where was she? I went out to the patio, but it was still raining. That's when I heard the shower. She was in the adjoining bathroom, in the shower. Whew, I said to myself. Whew ...

I slumped down and sat on the bed, then fell back onto it, staring at the ceiling. What a damned day, I thought. Busy as hell at the meet, then the rain, then the flat tire, and here I am, thinking all this perverted shit about Steph -- and here she is, in the shower, just getting ready to go eat.

I stood up and walked over and rapped lightly on the door. "Hey hon, I'm back. Let me know when you're done. I have to pee like a race horse," I said.

"Be out in just a sec," she said. "Almost done in here ..."

I turned on the TV, sank back down in the large lounge chair and rested my head back. Steph came out, flashed me one of her award-winning smiles and was wrapped in one of the Drury's oversized terry-cloth bathrobes.

"Go ahead and pee, honey. I'll just throw on something real quick, and we can go eat somewhere. They said the restaurant right here in the Drury is a great one," she said.

I went in and the bathroom was steamy hot. Like, on FIRE, it was so warm, and steamy and drippy humid. The tiny bathroom fan wasn't sucking out any of the humidity or heat as I relieved myself of what seemed like a gallon of pee.

I couldn't get out of that bathroom fast enough, I had started to crack a sweat. Steph has always taken long, hot steamy showers. Not me. I jump in, soap up, wash off, and get out. None of that "pampering" for me.

When I emerged, Steph already had a pair of nice tight jeans on, showing off that award-winning ass of hers. Draped over her was one of those attractive oversized blouse -- she looked fantastic. I took her arm and we walked out into the hallway, toward the elevator and a long overdue dinner.

When we'd gotten to the elevator, I realized I'd left my cellphone in the room. The elevator had just arrived and I told Steph, "Hold it, lemme go get my phone, I forgot it --" and I dashed off as she tried to say something I didn't quite catch. I got to the room door and fumbled with the plastic key (I almost ALWAYS insert those damned things in upside down, or backward, or something.)

I opened the door, grabbed my phone off the hallway stand where I'd left it, and began to walk back to the elevator. As I turned into the hall, I saw a bunch of people get on the elevator with Steph, and saw the doors close. Steph wouldn't hold those other people up waiting for me, I thought, so I walked casually toward the elevator. "I'll catch up with her in just a second."

I pushed the "down" button and stood there. Then my phone dinged in my pocket. I had just gotten a text message. Then, another "ding" ... and another ... and still another. I dug the phone out of my pocket, clicked the mail button ... and just gazed.

"WHAT THE FUCK?"

There in front of me was a photo of Steph ... naked. On a bed. Sitting on Anthony Grimaldi. Her head thrust back, blonde hair hanging down. His hands tightly gripping her ass. It was obvious he was fucking the orgasmic hell out of her.

My knees went weak. I slid the photo over -- to see ANOTHER photo of Steph. On her knees, taken from above, as she sucked someone's cock.

The next photo? Steph, obviously nude, pressed up against the glass balcony window, with"Dude Guy" naked and fucking her from behind. Fucking her. Against the 15th floor window. Her hands stretched out wide, on the glass.

I slumped to the floor, leaning back against the flowery carpeted hallway wall. I couldn't even think straight. I was totally mesmerized by the next photo -- Anthony was fucking her from behind while Dude Guy had her long beautiful blonde hair wrapped in one hand, jamming her face down on his cock, with the phone in the other.

The elevator pinged as the door shut. I had been oblivious to the fact that it had returned to my floor. I would have to wait again as the next text was a hyper link. I had an idea what I would see, what it was -- it was a video. I involuntarily shuddered, from head to toe. I did not want to see this, but I had to. I stood up as the elevator returned to my floor.

I got on as I hit the link. The elevator began to descend as the scene played out before me. It was hard to make out at first. I couldn't see much. But I could hear ... hear ... It was Steph, moaning. LOUDLY.

"Ohhh Gawd, oh Gawd, oh Gawd," she was saying. The camera turned, and Anthony smiled on an extreme close-up, then turned it around. Then I could finally see Steph. She was ... IN THE SHOWER. IN OUR HOTEL ROOM SHOWER!!

"Fuck me, bitch, fuck me hard," Anthony said as Steph had her hands up on the shower wall, with Anthony fucking her from behind. "Hu-r-r-r-r-y," Steph managed to say, as he violently thrust up into her. "You heard ... ohhhhh, Goddddd ... he's ... unnhhhh ... on his ... way," she managed to utter.

Then she let out a long, low, guttural belch-like yowl that I knew from experience, was an orgasm. "Do me, Mrs. C., fuck me hard. You know you 've wanted this dick," Anthony was saying. "Ohhh, yeah, I'm gonna ... Gonna ... CUM!"

With that, the phone cam got tilted, pointed at the ceiling, then back at Steph as she lowered herself and sucked on his cock. "That's it, clean me up before hubby comes back and finds us."

FINDS US? Was he -- "What the fuck?" I violently SLAMMED the red elevator "Stop" button. Bells started ringing, and I hit the 15th floor. The elevator began to ascend once again. This time, I couldn't convince myself to look in the elevator mirror. Not this time.

The door opened, and I ambled out into the hall. I began the slow walk down to my room, not knowing what to expect. When I got closer, within maybe 10 feet, I saw that the door was cracked open. I had pulled it shut on the way out, I know I did. Slowly, carefully, I pushed the door open. "Anyone there?" I called out. Nothing.

I crept in, one step at a time. I grabbed the lamp off the tiny entry table, ripping the cord out of the wall. I rounded the corner by the bed, headed toward "the scene of the crime," the bathroom. I reached the door, partially shut. I put my hand to it, began to nudge it open, and -- DING DING DA DING DING!

My phone rang and scared the living crap out of me. I must have jumped three feet in the air.

I fumbled for it, dropped it, and then picked it up ... "Huh -- hello?"

"Honey, where ARE you? I thought you were right behind me. I'm down here at a table already. Come on, I'm about to order," Steph said, as if she was perturbed I was late.

"On my way. On my way," I said. The bathroom door glided open, and I saw nobody was there. "I'm on my way. Order me a Jack Honey Wheat highball," I added.

"Hurry please. I am starving," she said.

I hit "end call" turned and tossed the lamp on the bed. I slumped down to rest a second on the bed, trying to take in all that had happened. I rubbed my hands on my face. What in the fucking hell. I stood up and sort of stumbled back out the door and shut it behind me again. It was a mind-numbing walk to the elevator. I didn't know WHAT to think.

What was she going to say? What was I going to ask her? Was she ... getting fucked ... when I had called earlier?

The elevator stopped on the balcony floor, which is the restaurant level. I got out and started walking, trancelike, toward the hotel's popular steakhouse. Right about then -- PING! -- I got another text message. I froze, looked down, and -- against my better judgment ... opened it.

Anthony and "Dude Guy" were there. Standing naked. In my hotel bathroom. Waving in the mirror. Mocking me.

Then I nearly threw up when I enlarged the photo and looked closer at the mirror. Taken at about a 20-degree angle, I could see in the mirror into the other room. It was the bed. And I could see a leg.

My leg.. That was MY leg -- THAT WAS ME SITTING ON THE BED ... while they were in MY bathroom, taking that photo!!

Those two had been in that bathroom THE WHOLE TIME -- while Steph was "showering," while I was taking a leak -- they were hidden in the shower, in the steam!

I sat in the lobby for a minute, contemplating my next move. I couldn't think of anything, my mind was blank, numb -- like a dot of water on a dry desert lakebed. I glanced at my phone. Almost robotic-like, I hit "Share" and then typed in Steph's name ... and hit SEND.

It dinged, letting me know the photo was sent. I took a forced deep breath, not sure what would happen next. But in less than a minute, my inbox flicked and I received a text back. From Steph. I closed my eyes tight. I slowly opened them, then opened ... it.