It was the night of my mother's 50th birthday.
The beer, wine and champagne flowed freely, the 80's music was blasting, people were pissed and everyone was happy.
Everyone, that is, except my mum.
I was her only son and at 28 years of age, not yet married. I'd had lots of girlfriends, even got engaged once, but on this night, I was free and single - and horny as fuck.
The party was starting to wind down, particularly after the police arrived to say that the neighbours had been complaining about the noise.
As I wandered from the garden through the house looking for my mum, I passed one couple kissing passionately on the couch... the guy was holding her wrists above her head with his right hand, his left hand furiously fingering her wet cunt as she grinded her hips against his fingers. I wandered past the downstairs toilet to find one of the neighbours passed out on the toilet, her head leaning against the tiles... with her pants around her ankles.
After stumbling around downstairs, through the kitchen with bottles of wine upended all over the kitchen counter, the half-eaten birthday cake still sitting out with the icing rapidly turning to mush, I decided to look for my mum upstairs.
"Maybe she's just gone to bed." I thought.
As I climbed the stairs, the sound of someone crying became clearer.
I knew it was mum.
I tried to think myself sober but all I did was trip up the top step and crash to the ground. Giggling to myself, I got up and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Right to my mother's bedroom door.
