As always, all story characters engaged in sexual activities are eighteen years of age or older.
* * * * *
My son had asked if he could stay out late. His buddy Jim, a year older than he, was back in town and had invited the gang to his place. For reasons to be explained I wasn't enthralled by the prospect and called Jim's parents, looking for a reason Ronnie couldn't go. They told me they'd be out of town, but Jim had gotten permission and Audrey, his older sister, would be there to ensure all remained copasetic. I knew Audrey, a good responsible kid, and unable to manufacture a plausible reason to say no, said yes, but reminded Ronnie he had a swim meet in the morning and we were only seven weeks away from the state championships.
Intending to stay up late, make sure he got in okay, I fell asleep in bed with a book and the light on. Waking a little after two in the morning I went to check on him. His clothes were in a heap on the floor. I picked them up, pressed them to my nose. There was a slight, very slight, smell of beer. I leaned over, kissed him, checked his breath. No smell of beer, toothpaste, or anything else he might use to hide the scent. Instead there was bad breath; he should have brushed, his mouth was going to taste terrible in the morning. Dropping his clothes off in the laundry, I returned to bed.
The next morning, unusual for him, he was sullen and non-communicative. Hangover crossed my mind, but neither his breath last night nor his movements now showed the ill-effects of alcohol. My surmise was confirmed at the swim meet. Attacking the water with an intensity that bordered on the savage he not only won both his events, his times were personal bests.
I had a bad feeling about this, but decided to give him space. Still, after two days I asked. He said he didn't want to talk about it. There was real anger in his voice.
* * * * *
It had been just he and I since, four years ago, I'd divorced his stepfather. I had not married his father; I barely knew his father. He was a ridiculously handsome private just out of basic training in a scrumptious uniform who I met in a club I'd gotten into with one of those storefront fake id's.
So I was eighteen year old single mom, a child myself, and not a particularly responsible one. My son was usually with my parents while I, 5 feet 5 inches, 115 pounds, stylish short blond hair, blue eyes, more cute than beautiful, had a good time, a very good time. I loved flirting, loved to show skin, loved to fuck, loved it dangerous, loved to push the edge of the envelope. I'd do it outdoors, where I might get caught, where I did get caught. I did it in parking lots as people walked by. I tried girls, took on several guys at a time. I was naughty and I loved it
At least I learned one lesson: condoms were required. No exceptions. "Yeah buster, you're a hunk, that is a very impressive instrument, by reputation you know how to use it, and yes, my period was ten days ago, but NO EXCEPTIONS. NO EXCEPTIONS. GOT IT, NO FRICKING EXCEPTIONS." So happily I was disease free and Ronald an only child.
But my parents moved to Florida, it got harder to sneak one night stands past Ronald, and the scene grew tiresome. Eighteen year old party guys are cool; twenty-eight year old party guys have the definite smell of losers.
And then I met Eric. Going through a divorce he was, let's say plain but nice, well-paid, seemed stable, and under my guidance became a decent lover. He'd also never had a "hot" girlfriend before and loved showing me off, willing to play to the exhibitionist in me. He'd take me to a restaurant where I'd forget to wear panties, accidentally flash a breast, then fuck me in his car in the parking lot before dropping me at my place.
There was one problem. I'd never been in a traditional relationship. Without any idea how to handle the "I have a kid" thing I kept Eric and Ronald on parallel tracks while we dated. I know I sound like an idiot, but my soon-to-be husband and I never discussed what his role would be in Ronnie's life. After we married Eric assumed, as the man of the house, he could tell Ronnie what to do and when he did my son looked at him like who is this stranger giving me orders and I felt hopelessly caught in the middle. I didn't know how to handle it, but did know that Ronald was a good kid and Eric should treat him with love and respect and not as a rival for my affection. And there was something else, not as important, but important. Now that I was his wife there was no more showing me off, I was his and his alone: I was to dress conservatively and there'd be no more flashing, no more public sex. Six months in my marriage had already begun the death spiral that dragged out over the next three years and left us all miserable and damaged.
After the divorce, after a few desultory dates, I decided no men until Ronald left home.
In one way in was easy. I didn't miss the meeting of strangers, the uncomfortable conversation, the trying to discern how much bullshit I was being fed.
In another way it was hard. I think I've been clear. I'm a flirt with a high sex drive, a very high sex drive. I love to show skin, love the attention, love to fuck. So I wasn't perfect; there were indiscretions. A semi-regular thing with a married out-of-town businessman who called on our company, an old lover back in town for a couple of weeks, and the one I alluded to earlier and which I'll tell you more about shortly, but they were still too few and too far between.
* * * * *
After Eric left our home became the place where my son and his friends gathered. We had a pool and I liked having the kids over, liked cooking for them, and, perhaps in an attempt as recompense for Eric, was less restrictive than most parents. Nothing too crazy, but I let teen-aged boys be teen-aged boys. And yeah, I enjoyed being the hot mom, enjoyed showing some skin, enjoyed those young men's eyes on me. I'd been a good looking teenager, I'd been a good-looking twenty-something, now I was a good looking woman in her thirties. I stayed in shape, dressed and kept my hair and make-up stylish.
The other parents treated me like a saint, willing to entertain their children during long hot afternoons, but my inner thoughts were not always saintly, for sometimes, after feeling their eyes on me all afternoon I'd excuse myself, go to my bedroom on the second floor overlooking the pool, double-check the lock on my door, reach into my lingerie drawer, and look out my window at all those boys and their hard young bodies and think about the way they looked at me and press the vibrator to my clit and the orgasm would make my toes curl.
And that night, lights out, I'd open my lingerie drawer again, check the batteries, and replaying those boys' eyes in my mind, do it again, but this time nice and slow.
* * * * *
After seven days of monosyllabic responses, after a week of not seeing any of Ronald's ubiquitous friends, I steeled my courage with a second glass of wine and headed upstairs. Something was wrong and I was pretty darn sure I knew what it was.
I knocked on his door.
"What do you want?"
"To talk."
"I don't want to."
There was real anger there.
Unexpectedly, I started crying. I backed away, fled to my bedroom.
I'm not sure how long, but it wasn't long before I heard a knock. "May I come in?"
"In a second." I went to the bathroom, wiped away my tears and mascara, looked in the mirror, a little better, not much.
"Come in."
"Sorry Mom, I didn't mean to make you cry. Its just that..."
He stopped, unsure of what to say. I patted the bed and said, "Come sit with me son." He did, but he wouldn't make eye contact.
"What is it?"
He looked at me; there was hurt, some fear, some concern in his eyes. Still, he couldn't say it.
I took his hand in mine and said, "It is about me son?"
"Yeah."
"Then you better tell me."
"I don't know how to say it."
"I find that sometimes if you just start, it comes."
After a pause he said, "That night I went to Jim's, he'd gotten a left over keg from a friend at a local fraternity. Everybody but me was drinking, I had that swim meet. They were going at it real good, guys were falling down drunk, then Jim started talking."
I'd feared this moment. I'd decided if it came I'd be honest with my son.
"He said you and he, you, you..."
"Had sex?"
"Yes."
My mind on the blowback I'd get about screwing a teen-aged boy, even if he'd been eighteen, I said, "And now everyone knows?"
"No. The guys were drunk; no one was paying attention. Jim doesn't remember saying it; the guys don't remember hearing it. Only I was sober, only I remember."
Although unsure of to what end, I stalled for time. "Jim's parents told me Audrey was there, that she'd keep an eye on you guys."
Despite my earlier resolve to tell the truth, while he said, "She did, when she found out about the keg she called some friends who are Uber drivers, they got everyone home safe," I ran the options through my mind. I could lie, say it wasn't true, that it was the beer talking, but Ronald would only push harder, ask me questions or, even worse, probe Jim for details. Ronnie would learn the truth and once Jim knew the secret was out, everyone would know. He wouldn't be able to resist the temptation to brag.
On the other hand Jim had promised to keep it a secret and it appeared he'd done so until reaching a near fatal degree of intoxication. There was a chance he'd get that drunk again, brag about it again, but that would likely back at college, out of state, to his frat buddies. He'd just be another dude with a tale of how he nailed the MILF back home. Even if they believed him, no one would know who I was. The story would die there.
It was best to fess up. Telling the truth now, ending the inquiry now, was the safest way to go.
"It's true son, Jim and I, we uh, did it."
"How often."
"That one time."
"What happened, why?"
"It was one of the days when you and your friends were hanging by the pool. I made a tub of guacamole, you were all gorging yourselves and a bunch of you kept asking me to join you, so I put on a swimsuit and hung with you by the water."
Despite my resolve, that was not full disclosure. I'd put on my yellow bikini, one I look especially hot in, and loved the attention.
"Later on I jumped off the diving board, hit the water the wrong way, strained my neck."
I left out that the boys had been flirting with me, how so many of his friends were, like my son, fit, trim, and athletic, how I loved their eyes on me. I didn't say that they'd been daring me to jump so when I did I was the center of attention and what a charge that was. I didn't say any of that, but it was all true.
Ron said, "Yeah, I remember. We left you in the lurch, didn't help you clean up, most of the guys headed for a basketball game."
I said, "You offered to stay and help, but I told you to go, that I'd be okay. I was packing up the food when Jim came back looking for his wallet. We found it under a pile of towels. He noticed I was moving stiffly and offered to rub my neck. It was innocent, or started that way."
I didn't say I'd insisted the boys leave and was packing up only the necessities, getting the food in the frig, because after an afternoon of all those eyes on me my sex was on fire and I had a threesome planned with my dildo and vibrator.
And then I stopped. This story would make more sense with some background. He was eighteen, old enough to hear this, and yeah, I was looking for a little sympathy.
