Isbah and Hussein were two college students my mom, Ashley, rented rooms out to in our rather large house. It was a financial no-brainer: she used their rent money to pay the mortgage (or at least a big chunk of it). The boys, who were a year older than me, seemed like good dudes...at least, at first they did.
My mom got along with both of them very well, in fact, a little too well for my liking, but that's just me having a protective son-reaction, I guess. Both of the boys were very touchy-feely with her, and vice versa. Myself, I wasn't quite so tight with the two boys.
The boys were heavy-set and athletic: Isbah was the football jock while Hussein was a soccer lover. Both of them often came home sweaty. One of the things that irked me was that they would flop down on my couch after one of their workouts or practices, the stench of fresh sweat wafting through the living room.
I complained about this to my mom expecting her to talk to them, but she scolded me for not being man enough to handle it myself. She then surprised me by telling me that she rather liked the way the boys smelled, discretely rubbing her legs together in front of me.
Sometimes when I'd be doing the dishes, Hussein would come down and dump all his dirty dishes from the day into the sink.
"Take care of these, will ya bud?" He'd say to me while condescendingly patting me on the back. I complained about this to her also, but it fell on deaf ears. Mom wasn't the coddling type - if I had a problem, she expected me to fix it myself.
Ignoring me and my request for help, she walked right over to Hussein, asked him if he wanted another beer, then went to get him one, along with one for herself. They clinked their beers together, and both took a swig, making eye contact with each other as they did. Ashley cuddled up in Hussein's arms, and Hussein put his arm around her shoulders, winking at me and giving me a thumbs-up.
As the days went by, Hussein and Isbah started taking me more for granted. The cocky college students would sit back on my couch, bare feet on my coffee table, drink my beer, and eat my food. They would summon me to refill their glass or get them more food whenever they wanted more of something. They instructed me to hand-wash certain clothes rather than sticking them in the washing machine. At that point, I decided enough was enough and planned to ask Hussein to move out.
After telling Ashley my plan to get rid of Hussein because of how he treated me, she did an about-face, defending the big jock and telling me she wanted him to stay with us for as long as he liked. She wasn't asking me as much as she was telling me how things were going to be, regardless of how I felt.
When Hussein got home that day, the Arab student pie-faced me out of the way and made a bee-line straight for my mom. I would later find out that my mother told Hussein about my plans to evict both he and Isbah. Though we didn't discuss the matter, and in spite of the seniority in the household, I had a feeling I was in hot water with the young Arab. Hussein and my mother talked to each other, and I might as well have not even been in the room. It was then that I realized how Hussein and my mom had their own special connection with each other. I watched their chemistry together and realized Hussein wasn't going anywhere. I truly hadn't realized how friendly the two had become.
I came home the next night and found my mom cuddled up on the couch with Hussein. Both were watching a movie, and her head lay on his big beefy chest. His arm was around her. When they realized I came home, Hussein nodded to me, while my mom smiled. They didn't get up, like the position they were in was not inappropriate at all, like this was something they did before.
As the days went by, my mom became more and more comfortable with the both of our tenants. She openly walked around in her bra and panties and spent almost all of her free time cuddled up with one or both of them. One night I woke up in the early morning hours, still dark out, and saw that my mom had not yet gone to bed. I looked in to see Hussein and my mom cuddled up on the couch in the living room again. Neither one of them was aware of my presence. I ease-dropped on their conversation, watching my mom's hand stroke Hussein's chest, her face buried in his thick muscular neck, his hand stroking her long blonde hair, his other hand rubbing her bare thigh.
"...well one thing's for sure," Hussein said to her, in mid-conversation. "If you were my girl, you'd do what I'd say. Our customs have our girls obedient to our men."
"Well that's a backward approach to life," my mom replied.
"Yeah, but that's the way it is, babe," he said to her.
"Well, it's a good thing we don't live in Lebanon." she chuckled.
"Maybe," he said, "But admit it, the thought of you doing what I say...it gets you wet, doesn't it?" he said to her with a smile, his thumb caressing her cheek.
"I...I don't...I"...she replied, caught off guard, not knowing what to say.
