~"Mother, I want to..."~
--'The End', The Doors
"Stop it, Chad!" Wilma whispered hotly.
Chad was standing behind her in the kitchen. His arms around her narrow waist, he pulled her ass against his groin. She felt the moist, velvet soft warmth of his mouth on the nape of her neck. She could feel the hardness of his cock against the firm curve of her buttocks. This was a game that had gone to far. It had to stop.
"Stop it, Chad!" she whispered again, more hotly.
But his grip tightened. His tongue made a moist line up the side of her neck. She felt his teeth nip her earlobe lightly. She shivered as tingling sensations coursed her spine. Damnit! She felt like a puppet, and he was pulling all the right strings.
"Your father's in the next room." She exhaled all the words in one sharp gush; he could feel the sides of her breasts rise then fall against his bulging biceps.
Chad lifted his mouth from her neck where a moist, pale-brown curl clung to the skin.
"He's watching the ball game. He can't hear anything."
"Let me go, Chad! I mean it, now!"
Her small, soft hands found his and tried in vain to loosen their grip. Her ass ground against his erection as she tried to wriggle out of his grasp.
"Kiss me like last time, and I'll let you go," he said.
"Noooaah," she moaned. Arching her back, she strained against his grip, but he was too strong for her.
"Just one kiss, then I'll let you go, " he cajoled.
Why had she kissed him before? Now he expected it as a matter of course. She sighed.
He turned her so that her back was against the refrigerator. He lifted her slightly to her tiptoes. She closed her eyes. His mouth touched hers. She neither resisted nor responded. She remained outwardly aloof. His tongue parted her lips. She let it. His tongue entered her. She felt herself giving back...slightly. His hand pulled at her short skirt, drawing it up.
How far was he prepared to go? she wondered. How far was she?
"Honey, get me another beer," a voice called out from the living room. Where the hell's Chad; he's gonna miss the game if he doesn't get his butt back in here."
I'm coming, dad," Chad called out hoarsely. And he almost had been. He released his mother. She turned to the sink, away from him, where she had been grating carrots. Chad got a beer out of the frig and went into the living room.
* * *
Friday night was barbecue night. Out on the back lawn, porterhouse steaks were broiling on a gas grill, looked over by Chad's father who periodically basted the meat while downing an occasional beer replenished from an ice-filled tub.
"Damnit, don't use fork tines to turn'em, Bill," uncle Charlie, called out from the patio, where he was dancing with Chad's mother. "You'll let out all the juices. Shouldn't turn'em but once anyway."
A medley of oldies filled the star-filled night air: Rock Around the Clock; The Girl Can't Help It; La Bamba; Mixed with some slow numbers: Donna; True Love Ways; Teen Angel; etc.
Chad sat in the padded couch swing under and elm tree and watched the partying antics of his relatives and friends of the family while sipping on a beer uncle Charlie had smuggled to him.
There was plump aunt Alice, Charlie's wife, feet propped up on the lounger, sipping ice tea with a slice of lemon and a generous portion of Kentucky bourbon. His cousins, Jake and Carol, were on the patio dancing, also, with children of his father's truck-driving buddies: Bruce with his good-looking wife, Sheena; and David with his slender wife, Helen. All of whom were sitting around in lawn chairs, smoking and talking while waiting for their steaks to get done.
Chad wasn't sure how many beers he'd had, but enough, for things were beginning to turn fuzzy. Sound and sight were beginning to mesh uncontrollably in those crazy trackings that foretell drunkenness. He didn't feel sick, though. In fact he felt great.
His mother had her light-brown hair fixed up in a swirl at the back of her head. She was easily the best looking woman there. Petite, shapely. She was wearing an ankle length peasant dress that left her shoulders bared. Her full breasts jiggled provocatively under the thin fabric. A narrow elastic band held the dress up over her breasts. There was another band drawing in her waist. She was barefoot.