This story is a prequel to "New Years Kisses."
Mirrors are not our friends +++++
Stepping out of the shower and drying off on that cool December night back in 1988, I stood at my mirrored vanity. As a 38-year-old mother of two grown kids, I was about to secretly perform perhaps the sickest of self-confirming rituals.
SELF:
"Mirror, mirror on the wall who is the fairest of them all?" I silently asked with raised eyebrow eager for a positive reaffirming sign.
MIRROR:
"Hmm, well if we're talking fair as in "average," then I'd say you're hanging in there."
SELF:
"Okay, the "girls" had slipped a bit lately, but they're still nice, big and round, C'MON!" I pleaded, handily hoisting my double-d's up for a perkier pose.
MIRROR:
"Time for a reality check, Chubby. Sure your tits are admirable; but we're talking fairest of them ALL...right? In which case, I fear MJ has you covered in spades -- HA!"
SELF:
"Stupid fucking mirror!" I covered the undeniable evidence with my towel and gave the mirror one last disgruntled sneer.
MIRROR:
"Hey, let's talk again, once you've dropped say 20 or 25 pounds!" The unforgiving magical monster chided, as my bruised ego and chubby rest-of-me made our getaway.
Whipping open the bathroom door, I immediately crashed into a six-foot tall masculine frame. My towel unhinged itself from between my jugs, which I'm sure offered my son a brief yet revealing view of my mature goodies.
"JOSH, what the hell?" I shrieked, doing my best to pull the white terrycloth towel close enough to prevent a full frontal exposure.
"Sorry Mom; didn't mean to startle you," he calmly assured me, letting his hand cautiously rest on my bare shoulder. His innocent touch sent an unexpected tingle clean through me. [God, I haven't been touched by a man in damn near a month, and it has to be my SON!]
Quickly shifting my trusty towel from vertical back to horizontal I slid from under the warmth of his harmless yet inappropriate touch. Still tingling, I tightly wrapped and secured the towel as before. "So what's the big urgency, and why are you whispering?"
With his wide eyes glued on my deep cleavage, he surely must be in awe of my expertise in towel management--right! Raising both arms to finger-comb my wet locks, I let him ogle to his heart's content. [I mean hell, he is a man and I haven't flirted in such a long time.] When he remained silent to my question, I tossed my hair back and did a one-eighty. Playfully backing my 5-foot, 4-inch frame into him, I leaned back against his chest to make eye contact. "Earth to Josh!" I exclaimed; watching his focus make its way from my chest to my inquiring eyes. [What can I say; my son is a boob man. I love it!]
He gulp/coughed before I felt both hands on my shoulders. This was typically a sign that a massage was soon to follow. He's diligently performed many a shoulder kneading to relieve my recent tension. He knows I love it. Feeling those talented fingers starting to work my bare shoulders, I realized this was his first message with me nearly naked.
"Just wanted to let ya know, I'm on Bastard Patrol tonight; gotta hot lead," he whispered in my ear like an undercover agent (no pun intended). I never wanted to know where he got his hot leads, but I was glad he kept his voice down. With 14-year-old Megan just down the hall, this was information I was ashamed to share with Josh, never mind with his younger sister.
This was more than your normal 'Where's Waldo' case of incidental deception. Josh thought of spying on his old man as cloak and dagger work -- a dark Ninja-type adventure. Fact was I had known for months that Donny had been up to no good with his secretary from work. After several late nights of work-related excuses, I figured the 25-year-old vixen had her hooks out for fresh hubby flesh. Donny, the unsuspecting sap he is, was no doubt having another mid-life meandering.
For Mary Jane Karwell ("MJ" to nearly everybody), I didn't honestly believe she was fishing for the perfect catch to save her from a less-than-adequate life. She was just a trampy ball-buster that required plenty of male attention. Hey, I was once twenty-five and burning candles at both ends. I know how the attention of older guys can be a real turn on.
I got a preview of what she was capable of at last year's company Bar-B-Que. After virtually dumping her boy-toy husband upon arrival, she soon had three horny married guys sniffing around her. I kind of got a kick from watching her juggle all that testosterone, at least until Donny started sniffing. Since the sniffing never amounted to any substantial fooling around, I let it slide; never once confronting him about the party or MJ. In retrospect, I probably should have questioned him at the time. [Don't ya hate shouldas and couldas?]
"Well, just make sure YOU don't get into trouble. That's all we need," I warned Josh, as I retreated from under his fluent fingers to dress for bed. Slipping my thin-strapped cotton nightgown overhead I let the towel drop and slid under the covers. [Now, get out of here handsome, before I throw a net over you and drag your tight, ripe body in next to me.]
Josh was such a calm and collected character; not at all like his once wild and unrestrained mother at that age. His raging teenage hormones never surfaced as far as I knew -- low metabolism or some chemical imbalance. Who knows? I always sensed a transcendent twinkle behind his eyes and an occasional red-faced blush whenever the question of sex was discussed, so I was sure he wasn't queer.
Hearing his refurbished late 60's Cadillac rumbling out of the drive, I fingered through a few pages of my latest romance novel before dozing off.
Whether it was that cold gust of December chill or Josh's gloved hand on my shoulder, I was startled awake at 12:17 A.M. A blurred glance at the time and unruffled bed told me Donny still wasn't home.
"Get up Mom. Get up! I found him. He's at the Family Inn and he's not alone. C'mon, get up!"
"Jesus Chr--- JOSH! What the hell?"
"Bastard Patrol, ya know. C'mon, I found him!" Josh insisted, like he'd just discovered John Dillinger's hideout.
Pulling me up to a slump, he was so tickled with his news. My brain (no doubt still floating in some evaporated dream) was slow to react, while I let him shake my body awake.
"Okay, OKAY! Let ME do this," I yelled, pulling my jeans up over my gown.
"Here, you'll need this." Josh impatiently shoved my arms into Donny's floor-length trench coat.
"That's not my c---," I started, when he twirled me around to cinch the belt around me.
"There's no time. We've got to hurry; he'll get away."
Undercover Amazon +++++
Here I am dressed in my nightgown, jeans, booties, and Donny's trench coat looking like some twisted female version of Sam Spade. "Gosh, maybe I ought to pack some heat; whatdya think, Rocco?" I smirked, as my son plopped a knit cap on top of my disheveled coif.
A quick dash into the December cold, Ma Bonny and her Clyde were soon in the warm Caddie winding our way to Donny's designated rendezvous -- a real den of inequity -- the midtown Family Inn. Now I was awake and wondering even more just what the hell I was expected to do. Josh wasn't real exact about how to deal with a fox in the hen house. After a speedy race across town, Josh silently backed into a secure, well-hidden parking space at the less-than-posh Family Inn. He let me know the room number and that it was halfway across the outside balcony on the second level.
"Well Josh, just so you know, I have no plans on confronting your father. I mean it's good to know what he's up to... and with whom, but there's no way I'm going to make a big scene. Do you understand?" I stated, gathering the too long trench coat around me.
"Hey, whatever you say. But if anything DOES go wrong, just let me know, Okay?"
I detected a sigh of indignation in his voice, but I knew there was no way he wanted to see me physically hurt. The emotional damage would be severe enough for any jilted spouse. I quietly opened the car door and proceeded to the stairway. The cold wind gave me a jolt, as it swirled under and up my long coat. Reaching the second level I lightly strode down the open walkway. At 12:45 most of the lights were out, except for room 232. Lowering myself at the window, I saw a crack in the pulled drapes. Not a big crack, but certainly large enough to peer into the lit room. Squatting down to perch myself at the window, I nearly slipped on a patch of ice.
It was my daring Donny alright. Lying butt-naked on a king-sized bed with an equally naked Mary Jane Karwell free-riding him for all he was worth. The initial sight of my hubby's obvious carnal betrayal was at once disgusting and detestable. Jealousy burned inside my gut, as I continued to validate his indiscretion. Allowing the seedy vision to seep into my conscious, the sight of MJ's bared body parts and art of seduction somehow captivated me. With her extra-long wavy brunette hair and heavy laden dark makeup, she was truly a slut whore by anybody's definition. Her marvelously proportioned booty and 25-year-old boobs seemed even larger in reality. Funny thing is, compared to 5'10" Donny, she was a virtual giant. Watching the 6-foot tall amazon forcibly bouncing up and down like a jack hammer on my hubby's lower half, I couldn't help but snicker.
My lips loosened from an intense pout and curled into a half-witted smile. The more I watched their hyper-charged lust, the more comical the whole scene became. "Good Lord Donny, she'll ruin you for sure!" I chided to myself. Feeling the patch of ice taking its toll on my poor booties, I shifted my weight as the comedy played on.
"Oops, must be the end of Act 1," I assumed, as the mismatched couple switched positions. Now my view of MJ was completely unobstructed, as Donny slid down her long torso and legs to have at her snatch. "God, what a fucking slut," I nearly verbalized, as my hubby's mouth and tongue went to work on her pussy. "What a... an incredible fucking slut!" I reissued to myself, as my breath started to fog the window.
Her spread thighs and uncommonly long legs twitched and danced, as my hubby continued to pleasure her. All the time, the drama in her facial expressions rapidly morphed from fear and pain to ecstasy; from ecstatic joy to insatiable wickedness. With Donny's face buried in her bushy vagina, he must be missing all of this. I became increasingly enamored with her and helpless to avert my eyes. [My God, she can't actually SEE me, can she?] Paranoia set in, along with my increasing infatuation.
My answer came soon enough. She wasn't playing to an audience of one. Two hairy stocky legs bent at the knees joined her. [Damn drapes!] I couldn't make him out from his posterior. Clearly MJ was making out just fine, as she greedily jacked and sucked the second man's hard cock.
By now my jealousy had switched from MJ to whomever was doing her, and I'm sure my breath wasn't the only thing steaming up the window. Feeling bolder, I came out of my crouch and stood up. Curiosity had gotten the best of me. Rubbing my fingers ever-so-lightly over the frosted glass for a better look at Mister Hairy Butt Man; I was getting good at all this stealth stuff.
Unfortunately that last thought was simply a conjecture on my part, as I heard the squeak. [Just a tiny little squeak. They couldn't have heard...] "Oh SHIT!" Heads jerked/turned and three sets of eyes shot to where they each thought the noise come from. That's when my pink bootie froze to the ice patch and my head hit the window trying to salvage it. "My God, it's Kenny!"
My heightened senses and half-frozen body somehow got their shit together enough to get me running and skidding back down the icy walkway and metal stairwell. Nearly out of breath by the time I got to the Caddy, I figured there must be three naked people hot on my heels. Grabbing the back door handle, I whipped it open and virtually dove into the back seat.
"DRIVE!"
